Devil's DESIRE
by Himegami Ririchiyo
Summary: Soul and Maka battle against their growing desires for each other, all whilst battling the Black Blood inside of them. Romance may bloom, but will it be destroyed by the bonds that tie them together?
1. Chapter 1- Change

Hime, here! Updates to come soon. I'd love to know your thoughts, so please review! Hope you enjoy~ Rated M for Mature Themes, and future Sexually Explicit Content.

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE- CHANGE**

 _ **MAKA**_

Death City was as clement, as it was quiet. A series of blaring horns, engines, and the very essence of 7 AM threatened to undo a certain blonde's almost comatose-like state. Her fingers crept beyond the various sets of linen swathing her jaded being- as if testing the waters. Sunlight seemed harmless enough. With a mild sigh, she rolled from the comforts of her bed onto the hardwood floor. She could hear her roommate's obnoxious snore from across the hall, causing the faint roll of her eyes. Soul never changes. If he ever were to wake during the "ungodly" hours of the morning, surely there'd be a natural disaster in their midst. She wore a mild grin at the thought.

Some things never change. Their elementary apartment was the same as it'd been since high school. The drab mesh of paint and brick wall had first brought a sense of character into the room. But now, she longed to update the somewhat outdated style of her home. Even a simple, elegant coat of fresh paint would do. She crinkled her nose. That would be one more task on the to-do list. One of those tasks, evidently, was breakfast. Tying her hair into a neat ponytail, she slipped into her apron and ventured into the kitchen.

There were small things that had changed. Such as the décor of their bedrooms, or their topic of bickering. At the ripe age of twenty-three, one could expect having had a drastic change. They were no longer the clumsy, half-baked meister/weapon pair in their pre-teens. Soul had far grown out of his insecurities, vying for validation in being 'cool'. His hair was longer, now. So much that he typically pried it into a short ponytail- or his signature mess. To Maka's dismay, he'd grown nearly a foot taller than her. Though he was far from lanky. Their relentless training (at the DWMA, and at their current job) gave him a considerable build. On the other hand, she'd hardly bloomed in height. Maka stood at a whopping five foot four. Miles below that of Tsubaki, Patti, or Liz. Her hair had gotten longer, taking on a texture of soft waves. Thankfully, 'tiny tits' was no longer in the vocabulary of her roommate- nor would the insult be valid. Maka was, undeniably, a woman.

A woman, who, still flipped pancakes for her lazy sucker of a partner in bed. Having graduated from the DWMA, they were offered jobs under the same administration of Death, himself. Death Scythe and Epic Meister weren't all it was cracked up to be. There were mountains of paperwork and a handful of problems to tend to. Said paperwork had Maka up during the _ungodly_ hours of the morning at an office near the academy.

The smell of fried bacon was a tried and true bribe of the household. Soul emerged from his lair, hair askew, with nothing but a pair of sweatpants to cover his towering form. From the corner of her eyes, she could spot the curl of his lips.

"You really know how to get a man up in the morning." Soul drawled from behind, leering over her shoulder at the sizzling pan.

"Nothing else will." Maka retorted, allowing her weight to recline into his sturdy chest. His warmth radiated into her back, loosening her ramrod spine as she slackened against him. The two were inevitably close. Their bond was as easy as breathing. She was grateful, that even now, they were still the same best friends she'd known since they were twelve. That, at least, would never change.

"Yeah, whatever." Soul murmured, his gaze drifting somewhere far-off.

She then reassumed her posture, wrapping her fingers around the pan to dip its contents onto a shared plate. It was mostly Soul's. Though she'd be lying if she claimed she wouldn't pick on it.

The man snatched a piece from the fresh batch, subjecting it to the bite of his dagger-sharp teeth. "Paperwork?" He questioned, eyeing the navy pencil skirt she wore beneath her apron.

Maka shot him a playful look, propping her left hand on her hip. "Can't a girl look good in the kitchen?" It was a joke. The two of them knew she'd be caught dead hanging around the apartment in anything more than a baggy, oversized sweatshirt.

"As long as she's makin' me breakfast." He replied honestly, arching a brow. Maka gave him a visible roll of the eyes, shoving plates of food in his direction. He gladly accepted them, carrying them over to the kitchen table.

"She has you working a lot lately. Azusa." The comment was a mild attempt of sympathy. Azusa Yumi was Maka's overseeing director, and would run her ragged by the end of the week. Her level of diligence was unmatched, even to Kid- Death's own son. Office work was as lethal as any battlefield under her supervision.

Maka offered an indifferent shrug, plopping down into the seat across from him. "She's a paranoid woman. Says some former affiliates of Arachnophobia are turning up trouble."

Soul shoved a shred of pancake in his mouth. He had a habit of eating with his fingers, despite Maka's severe routine of scolding. Surveying the expression of disgust on her face, he silently surrendered- grabbing a fork and digging further into his plate.

"I sense a mission on the rise." His hypothesis wasn't too far off, as Maka suspected there would be a mission by Tuesday.

The two chatted through their breakfast, save for a few silent arguments and a couple obscene jokes. She liked spending her mornings with Soul. She enjoyed the lively banter, and the sense of comfort his presence brought her. Familiarity was her crutch. More so now than ever. With one less kitty-witch in the apartment, and Mama far off on an endless business trip, Soul was all she had. Sure, they had their high school buddies to hang with every now and then. But Soul had always been there. In the same apartment. The same room. The same Soul that she could count on every morning.

 **. . .**

"I'm going to the club tonight." Soul chimed whilst Maka readied herself by the front door. He twisted to face her, folding his arms over the spine of the chair. The male observed her with keen eyes as she slid into a pair of patent leather stilettos. She stiffened at the attention, but also at the notion of him being out late.

There was a Jazz Club that'd opened up around the corner from ChupaCabra's- boasting premium nightlife and constant live music. The place was often jam-packed with young adults, swingin' it to the wild life; along with the heavy accompaniment of alcohol. It was booming with talented musicians, eager to one-up the alcohol's effect on the crowd. It was madness. And that, was Soul's forte.

He'd never played the piano often, or any other instrument for that matter. In all the time she'd known him, she could recall very few (but very precious) occasions where he'd work his hands on the keys. Only she knew, there was a little devil inside him. Jazz was the honey to his demonic blood, coaxing the monster at bay. Those nights at the club unhitched his pent-up madness, black blood singing across a grand piano in pure ecstasy.

"You should come." He tagged on the end. A strange quality flickered between those red orbs, muddying the shades between crimson and burgundy. His long lashes drooped over his eyes whispering _come-hither._ She rationed him a side-glance, not wanting to give it too much thought. " _Please_ ," his expression pleaded.

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she clasped a hand around her arm in discomfort. She felt bad turning him down every time. There was nothing more extraordinary or _distracting_ than watching him play. But Maka didn't fit into that sort of crowd. Those people, people like Soul, thrived off excursion. It didn't matter what kind, whether it be alcohol, sex, money, _music_ …

"I can't." She mumbled in apology. The worst excuse wasn't about being embarrassed, or embarrassing him. Hell, it wasn't even about the club's _sin city_ connotation. She just couldn't bear to watch as he shared their one, precious little secret, with a roomful of other women. Interesting, wild, beautiful women. She didn't want anyone else to know about the maddeningly alluring side of Soul Evans. Her best friend, her roommate. That, would in fact- change.

"If you do decide to come, don't wear that getup." He submit, already dropping the conversation as he collected dishes from the table.

Maka fumed, her nails digging into her palms. _Asshole_. "I didn't ask for your opinion." She snapped, grabbing her purse and slamming the door from behind.

There was a small, but sure cleft between them nowadays. It was just enough distance for a weekly fight. But just small enough to ignore on a daily basis. There was nothing romantic about a meister and a weapon. There was nothing hormonal between them. Yet, one day, he would find someone he loved more like a _girlfriend_ than a _best friend_. And that would be the day she'd lose her roommate.

The pain in her chest was dull, and purely on a familial level. That, at least, _wouldn't_ change.


	2. Chapter 2- Distance

Finally! I'm so excited to share this chapter with you guys. Let me know what you think! -Hime

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO- DISTANCE**

 _ **SOUL**_

 _Triple Blade Combo…Topple…Smash!_

"So, did it hurt?" Black Star's eager tone shot through his ear, his cell phone wedged between his shoulder and chin.

His fingers ached from overwhelming victory, relinquishing the game controller to the couch. His eyes drifted from the glowing television screen, to his left arm- seeped with whorls of black ink.

"Not really." Soul replied, uninterested in the sudden turn of conversation. Black Star had the worst affinity for pain tolerance he'd ever known. At least, outside of battle. But, why he'd ever want a whole _sleeve_ of tattoos? That was a mystery. "Dude, you've had that one tattoo since you were a kid. And now you're telling me you want to ink up _both_ your arms? In _one_ day?" Soul offered a snort of sarcasm.

"I'm serious! It's gonna look _bad ass_." Black Star pressed. "I'll be the first guy in Death City to ink up two limbs in one night! Doesn't that sound awe-"

"Stupid." Soul deadpanned, running a hand through his hair. "They're supposed to have meaning. It took me years to complete my whole arm."

"Yeah, and it took me years to collect 99 souls- your point?"

"Man, it's your body. I don't really care what you do with it. But, Tsubaki might." He reminded him, prying himself from the comfort of the living room couch.

Black Star faltered for a moment, opting for a change of subject."Yeah, yeah. How's Maka? Have you guys done it yet?"

Soul clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Damn it, Star. I told you it's not _like_ that." It was the assumption of the year. Neither of them harbored feelings for each other, despite the opinions of the common populace. They were best friends, or maybe even siblings. Nothing more.

"Then why are you so hung up on her coming to that club?"

He chewed his lip, a tightness forming in his chest. "It was our thing, once. I just figured it might help the distance between us lately…"

The wedge between them had become insufferable.

"Relax. I'm sure it's just because of that office job. She's always been uptight, ya know?" Black Star assured him.

Exchanging their goodbyes, Soul tossed his cell onto the kitchen counter. The microwave read _6:52 PM_. Maka was probably leaving the office by now, and it was high time that Soul got ready for his night out.

He hated the way she'd left that morning, a strong sense of regret filling his stomach. An unsettling disconnect had risen amidst their soul wavelengths. At times he could feel nothing but walls of jagged stone, compelling her from reach. It shackled him from their once unshakable bond. It ate him away at night, wondering what he'd done to push her away. He'd gone over and over in his head, every battle he could remember.

Was it something he did?

Had something happened to her?

The look on her face was akin to the kind she'd worn when he gained a scar on his chest. It was a mixture of agony, and guilt. He'd vowed to never make her feel that way again. And yet…

Something changed.

Without him looking, she'd changed.

Solemn eyes locked on an apron, hanging somewhat crookedly in its place. It was a simple black color, with ties around the neck and a bow at the small of her back. Lace trimmed the edges of her shoulders, and decorated the pocket at her breast. Maka had become much more feminine since her years as a preteen. It was an odd phenomenon that he'd found himself loathing to watch. He hated the parts of Maka he suddenly didn't know, leaving him behind. One day, she would _leave him behind_.

That terrified him more than anything.

Maybe _he_ created the space that now lied between them. Because he couldn't bear to watch her slowly drift from his grasp. He'd escape, drown himself in the sound of jazz- and a roaring crowd that could slowly melt away his pain.

The thought of the club, the thought of _forgetting_ willed him into the shower. Clouds of steam littered the bathroom, fogging up the mirror and dampening the laminate floors.

 **...  
** _ **  
MAKA  
...**_

The sound of metal clattered to the marble counter as she discarded her keys, eager to wrench off her blazer. The apartment was steeping in heat, beads of sweat beginning to form at her collar.

"Lord Death, did he leave the heat on?" She grumbled to herself, fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. Her ponytail coming undone, in the progress of unbuttoning her shirt, she kicked her heels off halfway to the washroom. To her knowledge, no one was home. Soul had given her a heads up in advance about his late-night activities and she was ready for a long, _long_ shower. Before she had the chance to reach the doorknob, the hinges creaked open.

"Maka?"

Soul stood with a towel wrapped tightly around his hips, one hand propped on the doorknob- the other gripping the wooden trim of the frame. It groaned beneath his grip, his gaze narrowing at the sight of her half-dressed form. Water dribbled down the ripples of his abdomen, disappearing beneath the barrier of his towel. His jaw locked for a moment, then relaxed into a mild upturn of his lip.

"Were you going to join me?" He mused with a throaty chuckle, his hand sliding from the door frame to hold his towel.

The depths of her stomach were overwrought with unease, her cheeks florid. "I-" She parted her lips, scrambling for a shred of sensibility.

"I thought you left." She finally made out, making an effort not to gawk at him. It was no wonder that Blair couldn't keep her paws off him. The unwelcomed imagery granted her poise. Anger was an easy cure to her gaffe.

"I did some thinking… and decided you need a night out." The words were half a demand, and half a plea.

"Didn't I already reject that offer this morning? Are you a masochist, or something? I think you like hearing me turn you down." Embarrassment and exhaustion riled her blood, ready to pick a fight.

Anything was a worthy distraction from this humiliating scene. She'd never been so anxious to escape her roommate's company. The nakedness didn't improve the scenario, either. Whether it was his overt smugness in her gawking, or the fact she didn't know how to handle nearly-naked men- let alone her _best friend_ … She wanted out.

"Easy there, tiger." Soul perched a heavy hand on her head, ruffling her hair lightly.

"If you don't surrender…" He leaned forward, strands of his hair falling into his eyes. The sliver of proximity that was once her saving grace, was now severed into a mere inch between them. She could taste the scent of mint body wash, and hints of earthy aftershave.

"I'll have to take you hostage." The male purred, his teeth glinting with triumph.

"Eeep!" A cry slipped from her mouth as she stumbled backward, desperate to separate from her predator. He studied her momentarily, before taking his leave.

"And I'll have you know- I'm quite the opposite, Maka." He added, disappearing into his bedroom.

Locking herself inside the bathroom, the mirror reflected her face- flushed with vivid color. She scowled.

"Fucking pervert."

 **...**

There was a thundering knock at her door.

"Maka! You ready yet?" Soul called from the other side.

Digging her nails into the surface of her vanity, she stared back at her foreign reflection. Strands of golden blonde feathered down in varying directions, the ends held in loose curls. Often having tamed her locks into a slick up-do, it felt odd having her hair down. Her lips were visibly plumper, lacquered with a pink gloss. And, her lashes wore a few healthy coats of jet black mascara. Makeup, too- was an abnormality for her. Though the most alerting spectacle, was her dress.

A dress that Soul bought her a few months back for her birthday.

The embroidered mesh sleeves elegantly hugged her slender arms from her knuckles to her shoulders. It wound in translucent patterns across her décolletage, dipping between her breasts in a sweetheart neckline. The remaining fabric was a thick onyx, soft to the touch. It clung to the curves of her bodice, cinching into her waist, and draped downward into an A-line skirt that hovered above her ankles.

He truly did have good taste. One couldn't expect anything less from the opulent palate of an Evans.

She'd selected a pair of strappy heels to match, a pair of lace socks peeking out from underneath.

She didn't recognize the girl in the mirror. Or where that girl would end up by the dark of the night.

"Maka?" The door cracked open, Soul poking his head through to peek in.

"Decent." She answered him, assuring she was presentable.

The heavy tap of dress shoes entered her bedroom, a familiar pattern of pinstripes infiltrating her line of vision. He looked _good_ in a suit. _Edible_ , even. He'd slicked back his hair, a few pieces lazily falling to the side in rebellion. The overt theme of red and black had him looking like the devil, yearning to make a depraved deal.

A smile played at his lips; the sight of the dress pleased him. "Mm…" He hummed in approval. "Now this is a dress I can twirl you in."

His smile was genuinely contagious. "Is that why pencil skirts are a no?" She teased, reaching for his hand. Their palms melded together like habit, under nothing more than casual pretense.

"We're burning moonlight. C'mon." The white-haired demon led her from the room, sealing their fate for a night of pure excursions.

There was a reason she hadn't fought too hard in allowing him to bring her. Just this once, she could satiate the flurry of unspoken worries that flooded her mind. Tonight, her excursion was Soul.


	3. Chapter 3- Excursion

Hey guys, it's Hime! As excited I am for this chapter, I'd love to know your thoughts on what should happen next? Is there an instance you'd like to see in a future chapter? Let me know in the review section, below! [But don't worry, I've got plenty planned. ;) ]

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE- EXCURSION**

 _ **MAKA**_

Deafening whirls of boisterous laughter billowed throughout the building. People were dancing, basking in the mixture of darkness and lowlight. Their bodies meshed and twirled like a sea of bliss, a few stragglers floating at the sidelines of the bar. There were actually a good number of tables, to her surprise. Plush, upscale booths lined the west side of the establishment; decorated with promise of bottomless champagne. As contradictive as the place was, there was a well-renowned dinner menu- and a stage for the entertainment. Her eyes caught on fliers for burlesque nights, hoping her partner never attended those days.

Maka had pictured him in more of a rusty dive-bar to match his biker gear back home. She'd expected leather jackets and barely-dressed tramps. Soul was a man that was rough around the edges, though she was often reminded he was a man of _class_. He wasn't exactly the type for mediocre joints. Recalling a time when he would criticize Maka's affinity for diner food, complaining he could whip up a better burger at home.

It was a welcomed divergence into her life. Soul led an air of bottled entropy and staggering ease for the lavish things of the world. He moved in stark contrast to her overcalculated steps. From the pace of his day, to the innate attention to his brand of shampoo or quality of dress- he skimmed over a dimension that Maka never dared to enter.

An arm coiled around her waist, Soul shot her a crooked grin. His eyes swam with chaotic glee, posing the question: "What do you think?" She responded wordlessly, laughing at his brimming enthusiasm.

Soul leaned in, the heat of his breath tickling her ear. "Let's get you something to drink, shall we?" There was a low, gruff quality to his voice that was easily distinguished apart from the clatter of the room. A shiver trickled down the length of her spine. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to get you drunk." He chortled, leading her over to a table by the bar. The seats were so tall, her legs dangled above the floor.

He didn't ask for what she'd like. He didn't have to. Knowing each other for so long, she trusted him with a multitude of things. Namely her life- but also her taste buds. "It's red wine." The liquid sloshed around the glass as he slid it in front of her, temporarily painting the sides. She didn't indulge in alcohol often. What with an incredibly low tolerance for it.

"Thanks," she pressed her mouth to the rim, leaving an imprint of her lips. "So, what are you loosening me up for?" Maka pried, hesitant to comply with his plans.

Soul propped his chin atop his palm, tilting his head in the direction behind him. "Dancing. You're awful at it." She choked on her wine, returning the glass to the table. Her complexion nearly matched the color of her drink. She couldn't believe he still brought that up. The one time she stepped on his foot in the Black Room… "If you're a little buzzed, you might let me take the lead." As Meister and Weapon, there were few situations in where the Weapon could lead the Meister. Albeit, this was not a battlefield- and they were not the Meister/Weapon pair. They were Soul, and Maka.

"I am not as bad as I used to be!" She defended, puffing her cheeks.

He smiled, extending a hand. "Let's put it to the test, then." Warily, she placed her hand in his. She hadn't really been keeping track of the music up till then. Some songs were quick like swing, and some slow like the jazz records Soul would play on vinyl. This song was a slow song.

Music carried a level of intimacy that could rattle one's bones. It resonated down to the core, on a wavelength that demanded coalition. Hovering on that wavelength, there was a stillness as he drew her against his chest. She was acutely aware of every morsel of their bodies that were now touching. It riled her blood, her stomach doing flip flops as she tried to stifle her racing pulse.

 _He'll hear it._ The intense drumming from the cage within her breast. The thought of being discovered triggered all forms of anxiety.

Why was she so nervous? They'd held hands thousands of times. And they'd been chest to chest more than plenty. But in the swallowing realm of darkness, her senses were heightened. Hollering and laughter became a hum to the melody that now shifted their feet. They were dancing. Effortlessly.

It had quickly become a second nature as he spun her in subtle fashions, reliably leading her back into him. They were soul resonating- just a little bit. She didn't have to look- to know that his eyes had been devouring her relentlessly. He could now feel the incessant palpitating of her heart; whilst she began to feel a fraction of his yearning. She couldn't make sense of it. What did he yearn for? What had him in such a state of turmoil?

"Does the dancing make you nervous?" He broke their silence, leaning down so that the reverberation of his voice could reach her.

Maka contemplated for a moment, her gaze drifting anywhere but his face. "No." She decided, realizing she found the dancefloor quite comfortable.

He paused, running his tongue over his lips as if considering something. _Please don't do that_. She thought, her stomach churning at the action. His eyes shot to her as if he'd heard the jumble of words in her head. Soul parted his lips for a moment, his brows furrowed, but then closed them. What was he going to say?

"I need a drink." He vocalized. Slowly, his arms slinked away. The more space he put between them, the more she ached for his touch. The place where his hands had been suddenly felt empty.

"Soul?" She stepped towards him, confused. He pushed a hand through his hair, his back to her.

"I'll be back. I'm on soon, anyway." With that, he disappeared in the direction of the bar. Maka huffed in protest, treading back to the table where she'd abandoned her wine.

Sitting with another full glass between her fingers, (albeit less wine, and a little more cosmopolitan) she grumbled. "What's _happening_ to us?" She couldn't wrap her head around the new feelings that now coursed through her veins. "That idiot. He wanted me here so bad and then he ditches me."

A sound ever so familiar resounded throughout the club. It was unmistakable. A symphony of absolute madness cornered the stage, while a stand-up bass began to thrum along. Soul didn't look at her as his fingers soared across the keys, illustrating a piece of his undying emotion. It was wild and had the crowd in disarray. To them, he looked nothing more than a pained artist. Though tonight, through hazed eyes, she could see her best friend playing for _her_.

 **...**

 ** _SOUL  
..._**

That tempest of a woman would be his downfall. There was nothing worse, than thirsting for something you could never dream of having. Night after night he'd managed to suppress the feelings he denied himself. The same feelings he'd drowned in two shots of whiskey and the overbearing sound of piano keys. He drove his fingers into the instrument with all his might, cursing the urges that still plagued his body. This was _wrong._ Dancing with her, reveling in the way their breath mingled. Wondering what the glaze on her lips would _taste_ like. She was his _meister_.

The music, and the club had become his place to unwind. It was here where he would deny his feelings over and over again. He didn't want to ruin their relationship. God, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. He was the one man she'd let into her life after her parents split. After that scumbag of a father womanized half of Death City, he was the only living proof she had that men were not monsters. He couldn't fuck this up.

He was panting when his hands retracted from the piano, the crowd's applause culminating into a roar. "That was _insane_ , Evans." Mark clapped him on the back, praising him. "What's gotten into you? It's like the Devil's come out to play." He went on, but Soul ignored him. There was nothing more imminent than his need to see her. Stalking away from the stage, he rumbled down the back steps and beelined towards the floor of bar tables. Maka stumbled off her chair to meet him, wavering as she struggled to find her footing.

"Maka? You okay?" He voiced with concern, steadying her with his hands.

A pair of jade eyes glimmered with verve at his arrival. "I wish I would o-of come sooner." He could tell it was an effort for her to form those words. "I missed hearing you play…" She said with a heavy sigh, clamping onto him to steady herself.

"Alright, I think you've had enough." He concluded, hooking an arm around her legs before scooping her up.

"N _oooo_ my dr _iiii_ nk…" She whined, making grabby motions towards the table. He tried not to laugh. It was his fault for leaving her unattended. He knew she was a lightweight. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy seeing this side of her.

"We're going home, you little drunkard." Soul adjusted her in his arms, carrying her out of the building. He'd managed to flag a taxi for the way home.

Once they were inside the apartment, he lied her onto the edge of his bed. Unsure of how many drinks she'd actually had, he figured to play it safe and keep watch on her. The poor girl might throw herself off the bed in the middle of the night, for all he knew. Loosening his tie, he prepared himself to deal with a very buzzed Maka. He began with the easiest obstacle, removing the pair of heels she'd worn. But there was no avoiding the alluring black affair that was her dress. It would be a miracle if she didn't slap him in the morning.

"Are you going to take it off, or what?" Maka griped, fiddling with the zipper at the back.

"You really are a handful, Maka." He reached for the metal zipper, giving it a gentle tug as the dress was cleaved in two. It was nothing less than a feat to ignore the increasing amount of exposed skin. The scent of honey and sugar sang to him, daring to reel him in closer. He did his best to remove the dress without making her too uncomfortable, though she didn't seem to mind. It was perplexing, how relaxed she was in his care. Folding the dress onto the chair, he began to search for something she could wear. It was unlikely she'd be pleased about him rummaging around her closet. Retrieving an old, slightly worn band tee shirt from his dresser- he kneeled in front of her. The fabric wrinkled into his fist, as he found his gaze fixated on a sheer layer of lace that confined her breasts. She was beautiful. He adored the prominence of her collarbones, and the milky quality of her skin. Her breasts looked so _soft_. Curious fingers brushed against the underwire, his breath growing uneven.

"I bought them for you, ya know." She mumbled softly, watching him. His hand quickly fisted into the sheets beside her. Soul grit his teeth, lowering his head in anguish. "Damn it, Maka. You're not making this easy." _Get it together, Evans_. He chided himself, shoving the tee shirt into her hands.

"You can at least handle putting a shirt on, right?" The girl pouted at his words, but complied. _Thank heavens_.

It took another fifteen minutes of struggling until he was finally welcomed by the mass of silk sheets and a cotton duvet. It'd taken an army of makeup wipes to clean her face, and even more time to braid her hair out of the way. Thankfully, he was no stranger to the art of makeup removal. What with his experimental years of wearing eyeliner.

The little monster lying contently in his arms, he allowed the woes of exhaust to consume him. He could no longer deny that this woman was designed to ruin him. He was inescapably, completely infatuated with her.


	4. Chapter 4- We're Fooling Ourselves

Will Maka ever acknowledge her true feelings for Soul? There's more drama to come! Stay tuned. ~Hime

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOUR- WE'RE FOOLING OURSELVES**

 _ **MAKA**_

Sunlight probed between the long, black drapes dressing the window. It crept along the expanse of the room, working to coerce her eyelids open. Scrunching her eyes shut, she cursed the arrival of the morning. Her head was throbbing due to a gnarly headache. However, her ailments were not enough to deter her from sleep. She was cradled in silk, from the sheets to her pillowcase- it was heavenly on her skin. Warmth radiated into her back, a soft breeze tickling her ear. And there was something fuzzy that prickled against her legs; legs that were now tangled with his. This wasn't her bed. Rosie paint splattered across her cheeks in realization. Her eyes fluttered open in shock as she turned cautiously in his arms. His hair was splayed across his pillow in a quandary of white. Strands laid every which way, revealing the row of silver piercings along the rim of his ear. The mixture of rings and studs glimmered in the sunlight. His eyelashes were so long, up close. And his lips looked… Maka sucked in a breath, recalling the events of last night. _Oh god…_ She wanted to cover her face, but she'd risk rousing him from his slumber.

The worst of it hadn't even been that he'd seen her (practically) naked. No, the majority of her humiliation could be credited to her big mouth. " _I bought them for you,_ " She'd blurted out. "Stupid." She whispered to herself, mortified. It was true that she'd bought them a long time ago with him in mind, but she knew better. He didn't feel that way about her. She wasn't even his type. What _is_ his type?

"Mm…" Soul emit a low, rumbling noise in his throat- yanking her closer into his grasp. Lucid hues of red peeked between his lashes, piercing as they guzzled down the sight of her. "How should I punish you for waking me this early in the morning?" His voice was husky, and lethal.

"A-About last night, I didn't mean-" She yelped as he nuzzled into her hair, his arms tightening around her waist.

"What a bad girl you are." He breathed, his hand beginning to trace slow, languid circles down the small of her back. She froze, helpless to his ministrations.

"Trying to lie first thing in the morning? You're such a tease, Maka." He nipped at her ear. She wasn't sure if it was him, or the hangover that had her dizzy. Her thighs pressed together, hoping to suppress the need growing between her legs.

"S-Stop it, Soul!" She demanded weakly, her body betraying her.

His hands dropped, instead spreading on either side of her. With one swift movement, he was on top of her. He had her pinned. "Do you want me to?" His eyes burned with something utterly primal.

It was happening at rapid speed, too quick for her to process. Under such vulnerability, she admit to herself that she wanted him. She _needed_ him. And for the first time, she recognized the same need resonating in his gaze. "No." She rasped, her face flushed with desire.

His expression softened, a smile pulling at his lips. Wordlessly, he rolled off- leaving her panting on the bed in anticipation. " _Good_." He said, trailing towards the door. "It took you long enough to admit it."

Maka growled, reaching for the nearest pillow and hurling it in his direction. He laughed. He was out the door before it could even land. "Prick!" She shouted after him, groaning as her head pounded in response. There was a bottle of Advil on the nightstand, and a glass of water. _That fucking jerk._

 **…**

Her cheeks swelled, puffed in a pout as she sat cross-legged at the kitchen table. After she finally got her turn in the shower, they'd joined in the kitchen for a war of silence. Holding her ground in a baggy white tee shirt, some shorts, and knee-high socks, she was boycotting her title as chef of the house. The soaked ends of her hair had dampened her shirt, a permanent frown etched across her face.

Soul was manning the stove, hair tied back, and shamelessly donning her frilly apron. She gave him a glance every now and then, too flustered to sort out her emotions. Soul glanced over his shoulder. "Geez, Maka. Are you really that mad?"

She stuck her tongue out to him in response. "Childish as ever, I see." He rebukes, flipping another pancake onto a serving plate. She heard the stove flicker off, before a plate was smacked onto the table in front of her. Slapping a hand onto the counter, he towered over her- scrutinizing. "Tch! What do I have to do to get you to admit that you like me?"

Maka shrugs absently. "It's not worth the risk." She says in a small voice, twiddling her thumbs in her lap. She couldn't risk their friendship, their _jobs_.

Soul grabs her by the chin, jerking her head in his direction. "Do you honestly think I'd leave you after all this time?" Her pulse sputters. Tears well up onto the bridge of her lashes. Her body was always more honest than she was, herself.

"Maka?" The aggravation on his face instantly dissipates into an expression of worry. His hands move to envelop her cheeks, wiping away the streaming barrage of waterworks.

"They a-always le-ave." She hiccups. "Men." One of the greatest Meister/Weapon pairs in history was ruined by a relationship. Her papa left mama in the dust, subjecting their pair to rot. Cheating, womanizing his way into oblivion. But Soul was by her side through it all. He'd held her for hours the night of the divorce. He didn't let go of her hand for three days straight when she'd caught her father adultering for the first time. He was her rock, through and through.

Could she risk it? She wasn't sure if she could stand on her own if they failed.

Soul scowls at her, kneeling. "Maka, I've been crazy about you since day one. I was just too much of an idiot to realize it." He ran his fingers through the tresses of her damp hair. "I've been spending the last several months at that club as if I could play my frustrations out." He shook his head, emitting a cynical laugh. "I was a fool. I can't get enough of you. If you don't feel the same way, I might just have to make you fall in love with me."

Maka hiccupped once again, raising her arm over her eyes.

"That's why, I could never, ever leave you. My best friend. My meister. My Maka…" He pried her arms away, rising so that their noses were touching. No amount of denial could quell the aching in her chest. She was doomed from the start. Ever since she'd heard his fingers on a set of piano keys, they were destined to end up tangled in this horribly bittersweet mess.

Exhaling a shaky breath, she buried her hands into his collar and yanked him forward- smashing her lips to his. It was a salty kiss. Their teeth gnashed and clamored against each other as they submerged into a whirlwind of caged desire. Parting from the kiss, their chests heaving, Soul's face was left with an unusual feverish appearance. "Idiot." She sniffled, pushing back her hair. "You better make up for all the times you've made me feel lonely up 'till now."

He grinned at the sight of those glassy emerald eyes. "Believe me, I will. You don't have to tell me twice."


	5. Chapter 5- Temptations

Thank you all so much for following, favoriting, and reviewing! I'm sorry this chapter is so late. As you guys have been requesting, I plan to make chapters a bit longer in the future. For now, Enjoy!

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIVE- TEMPTATIONS**

 _ **MAKA**_

That was her first kiss. It was chaotic, unbridled- having abandoned her sense of self-consciousness into an oblivion. She wasn't fully aware of the storm she'd reckoned with, but it was coming back to haunt her with gravity-defying force. It was only after the affair that she had time to question her lack of kissing technique. Her mind scoped all possibilities of embarrassing details. Had she brushed her teeth yet? Were her lips dry? Was she sloppy? She groaned inwardly at these infinite ponderings, plopping her head onto her linen pillowcase.

" _Just chill out, Maka. Take a nap or somethin' while I'm gone._ " He'd left her with a toothy grin, and a pile of messy feelings. Just picturing his _lips_ , his _tongue_ \- Oh, her face was permanently stained red.

 _What have I done?_ She thought to herself, incredulously. She'd shattered the single ounce of professionalism in their partnership, and any chances of a chaste friendship. Though Soul didn't seem to mind.

In fact, he was rather chipper about the entire situation. There was not one face of disgust, or snarky commentary such as 'sewer mouth' or 'tentacle tongue'. She shuddered at the possibilities. After all, 'tiny tits' was enough to haunt her for a lifetime. But perhaps his lack of concern lied with his absurd amount of confidence (and experience). Soul had been… _experimental_ during his school years. He'd experimented with the Stoner clique, and the life of a carefree playboy. His repertoire had been an amalgamation of band groupies, sorority members, and nightclub goers. The list wasn't probably as long as she imagined. As spontaneous as the man was, he'd never buzz around for a casual fuck. More accurately, he'd probably been with a few girls. One, an ex-girlfriend. The other couple- more or less friends.

 _Friends_.

She thought on that for a moment, rolling across the mattress onto her back. He was able to get intimate with a mere friend. Is that… what this was? An oddly affectionate friends-with-kissing benefits relationship? Did she _want_ a relationship?

It was dizzying. Things had been simpler when they spent their time lounging on a couch; like nothing else mattered. Sprawled across the cushions, Soul would cruise through the TV channels at an annoyingly slow pace, while she tried to focus on the riveting new chapter of her book. She'd make a remark about his irksome habits, whilst he would return witty comebacks. Their petty bickering was so casual. So fleeting. She didn't need to think about anything.

But now, she had to deal with a side to Soul she'd never known. Had he shared this side of him with anyone else? The lazy, salacious look in those merlot-shaded eyes. And the way his soft, inviting lips curled over a set of feral sharp teeth. One look, and she was done for. Like a wolf, anxious to rip into her skin.

Warmth crept up her spine, the hairs on her neck rising.

Ah, that wasn't the only expression he'd shown her. When she pulled back from the kiss, she recalled the vivid dusting of pink across his face. It left her swelling with satisfaction, knowing she had been the cause. The look in his gaze was unlike anything she'd ever known, mirroring her stirred emotions.

She liked him. She liked Soul Eater. And he liked her back.

In all her time mulling over her doubts, she finally broke into a girlish squeal. To hell with unrequited love. Soul Eater Evans had a thing for Maka Albarn. And she couldn't be happier. Well, aside from her raging hangover.

Relaxing into her own bed, she waited for her headache to subside until her dear prince returned.

 _ **...  
SOUL  
...**_

It had been one hell of a breakfast. And not because he'd been the one cooking. While anyone could admire his skills in the kitchen, only he could appreciate the sweet surprise he'd received that morning. Maka Albarn had kissed him. He shouldn't have been so shocked. After all, the woman always took initiative. Though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed to steal her kiss, himself. Making the first move was the _cool_ thing to do. But perhaps he'd already done that by pushing the poor girl over the edge. Brushing the pad of thumb over his lip, he walked with a spring in his step as he made his way to the local convenience store.

The automatic doors swung open, Soul aiming a curt nod over to the store clerk in greeting.

"Hello! Welcome to Death Mart. Let me know if I can help you with anything at all." The girl at the counter chirruped.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he wandered through the isles a bit aimlessly. He'd wanted to pick up a few items to care for Maka's hangover, aside from legal analgesics. There were a couple he'd deemed worthy of tossing into a basket, but decided against them. Settling on a box of ginger tea, he slid the product onto the checkout counter.

"That'll be 400 yen, sweetheart." The girl held out her hand coyly.

Soul raised an eyebrow, tapping his cash onto the counter. _As if, babe._ He remarked, silently.

The brunette leaned over the counter (a little more than necessary) and picked up the bill. The attempt at showcasing her breasts held little appeal to the white-haired man. It had been a long time since he'd looked in any other direction than his roommate. And frankly, he preferred blondes.

Quickly snagging the bag from her hands and his remaining change, he mumbled a short 'thanks' before rushing out the store. He wasn't particularly running away. In fact, his rush to leave her uninvited stare would leave a good message. His feet tracked against the pavement at lightning speed. He was eager to return to his meister. For a couple of reasons. The idea of seeing her was enough to vault him into a speed walk. But time was beginning to run. As much as he wanted to bask in their recent tryst, her hangover needed tending to. If he didn't get back once she woke up from her nap, he'd have a withering lump of pain wailing in his apartment for the rest of the day.

He'd had his fair share of nasty hangovers. Once the alcohol sat in her system for a good amount of time, it would turn into something toxic that would quickly wrack the body with waves of nausea and regret. By the time he reached the apartment, he was sweating. Turning the key into the lock, he bounded inside.

"Maka?" He called to test her consciousness. Silence.

"Thank Lord Death." He heaved in relief, reaching for the tea kettle.

 _ **…**_

The heat of the mug stung his hand, carrying it over to her bedside. Maka was just as he'd left her. Oversized white tee shirt, her wet hair drenching the collar. One of her socks had rolled down to her ankle, and her shorts were hidden somewhere beneath her unnecessarily long top. Her breathing was slow, peaceful as her petal pink lips parted every now and then. She turned to lie on her side, her damp tee shirt becoming wedged between her sandwiched breasts.

"Shit." Soul cursed himself, unable to tear his eyes from the captivating sight. His tongue swiped over his lips, a strong exhale escaping him as he took a step forward.

The angel in bed shuffled in her jumble of sheets. Almost instinctively his gaze flickered to watch her hips wiggle, enjoying the way they dipped into her slender waist.

"Soul," she mewled, sending blood coursing through his nether-region.

Soul growled at the sudden pressure he felt below his waistband. Damn, this girl. She could awaken at any minute. And he wasn't sure how she'd welcome a hard-on right in front of her face, first thing after a groggy slumber. This girl had ruined any sense of self-control he'd once had.

It would be shitty as hell for him to just pounce on her like this. He wasn't a complete barbarian, contrary to Maka's belief. So he opted for the less pleasant of options and prepared himself for an ice-cold shower. He placed the steaming mug at her bedside, retreating with quick strides into their shared bathroom. As soon as his toes met with tile floor, he swung the door closed- careful not to slam it in the midst of his sudden urgency. He collapsed against the bathroom door, fisting a hand into his hair.

Soul was still a man. He had his own needs, which, hadn't been fulfilled in quite a long time. Three years, to be exact. Maybe more. Distraction from the blonde temptress of his apartment had become increasingly difficult over time. Whether she was soaked from an ongoing thunderstorm, or exiting from a fresh shower- he was forced to endure all of his meister's tantalizing behavior. It could be as simple as her baking in the kitchen, ignorant to the smudge of chocolate adorning her bottom lip. It could be as deadly as watching her suck on a bowl full of strawberries during their monthly horror-movie night. Sweet, oblivious Maka. All the while he wrangled for control over his domineering instincts. His fever for her had become so unbearable- that he'd separated himself entirely in exchange for frequent visits to the Jazz Club.

The confinement of his jeans pulsed with demand for release. Ruby eyes flickered down towards the bulge between his hips. For a minute he considered pulling a quickie in the shower. Yet it somehow felt wrong to be rubbing-off to illicit thoughts of his meister. As thrilled as he'd been about the kiss this morning- they hadn't exactly established what it meant. Maka had finally poured out all her ambivalent thoughts concerning their relationship. But she'd never said a word about having feelings for him. The abiding uncertainty drove him into a barrage of glacier-cold water. He couldn't take her trust in him for granted. He had to confirm her feelings, without a doubt.

He needed to make her say it. That she, Maka Albarn, had fallen for him.

Soul allowed his thoughts to drift as the water desensitized his lack of primal sustenance.

 _ **...  
MAKA  
...**_

She awoke to the pleasant aroma of ginger, ginseng, and a cup full of earthy liquid. She welcomed the warmth into her hands, winding her palm through the handle and clasping the ceramic tightly in her grip. "Mmm…" She hummed in appreciation, steam rising onto her face as if to greet her. It was no doubt she was going under killer dehydration, so a cup of tea was heavily refreshing. Soul never failed to take care of her. And she'd be on fire if she said she didn't enjoy being so spoiled.

"He's such a nerd." She said to herself, shaking her head with a muted smile. Not that he would ever admit it, but Soul was just as much a nerd as the great bookworm herself. His territory of knowledge rested with the practical, and sometimes dangerous aspects of life. It surprised her at times. After all, during his days in high school, he'd barely scraped by. However, his low-point grade average had nothing to do with it. He never cared for trivial math quizzes or an overly-competitive written exam. If he'd wanted to, he could've passed with flying colors. But Soul Eater Evans did not invest his effort into anything considered uninteresting. His poor academic record could be chalked up to pure boredom. Soul's intelligence shined through in simpler, less apparent ways. Such as his extensive repertoire for musical feats. And, a fool-proof list of cures for a god-awful hangover.

Taking a swig from her cup, her lips puckered- her face scrunched into that of confoundment. A low chuckle rumbled from the other side of the room.

"It's spiked with scotch." He informed her, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. He had an amused look on his face.

Maka flushed, her nails digging into the mug. "You're not trying to get me drunk again, are you?" She raised an eyebrow at him skeptically, vying to cover up her flustered state. Just the sight of him made her chest tighten.

Another lighthearted laugh escaped from his lips, revealing a set of sharp teeth. "No. It's just a little remedy to sustain a buzz." He made a few steps towards the bed, taking a seat by her feet. "Alcohol can be a nasty little thing in the morning, after a crazy night." He flashed a deviant grin. "Trust me, I know." The sight made her heart flutter.

"It won't make me sick?" She pried, leaning as if ready for an interrogation.

"Quite the opposite. Best remedy in the book, I swear by it." He held up his hand, pledging scout's honor. Deeming his loyalty to his methods as enough evidence, she regressed back into her cup for seconds. The scotch burned her throat on its way down, numbing any discomfort.

"Now be a good girl and finish your medicine. I'll call Azusa to let her know we'll be postponing the mission till Thursday." She stuck her tongue out childishly, but offered no other display of protest. Once Soul had made up his mind, there was no swaying him. Her eyes lazily drifted to the calendar on the wall. Monday. The mission would've taken place tomorrow. She frowned. It was never good to skip out on work. But she couldn't very well protect Soul in this state. Recovery was needed. He'd never let her step onto the battlefield half-assed. Especially since the Demon Sword incident. She cringed at the memory, squeezing her eyes shut.

The days of madness had long since ended. No little devil. No Asura. No Crona. But the essence of black blood still coursed through their veins.

This mission was to assess the resurrection of _BREW_ and its devout followers of Arachnophobia. But _BREW_ was gone. The madness was gone… wasn't it?


	6. Chapter 6- French

Enjoying the story so far? Let me know in the reviews, below! I know we've all been looking forward to some more steamy action. Don't worry, it's coming up! After all, we've only been waiting for these two to hit it off since... forever? Alright, Alright. I'll give you guys a taste in the next chapter. ;) Enjoy, for now!

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX- FRENCH**

 _ **MAKA**_

In the last few days, there'd been a drastic change in the apartment. Under some insane miracle, Soul Eater had been waking in the ungodly hours of the morning. She'd often find him setting the kitchen table by the time she came stumbling out of bed. Not to mention- he had a tendency of being shirtless. And suddenly, the image of her shirtless partner had a whole different connotation. She barely had the energy to absorb so much shock in the morning. He was trying to give her a heart attack. Especially with the amount of bacon served at breakfast. Aside from their day routine, not much else had changed. Soul was still Soul. He wasn't the kind of guy who showered a girl in lovey dovey behavior. Not that she expected anything like that from him. But, she'd secretly hoped things would've changed between them since that kiss. Sadly for Maka, she was granted nothing but a maddening half-naked Soul every morning.

The mission having been pushed back to the following Tuesday, the week had dragged on with relentless exhaustion. Soul hadn't made a single move since that day. Grumbling into her coffee, Soul shot her a look of concern.

"You okay, Maka?" His pale eyebrows shot up in question, a pair of crimson eyes now painstakingly fixed on her warming face.

She avoided eye contact at all costs, a hike of nervousness entering her system. "Yeah, Soul. I'm just _fine_." She snapped, returning her cup to the table with a loud thud.

His hands sprung up in surrender, as if to wave a white flag. "Woah! If I'd known you hated Eggs Benedict that much, I wouldn't have made it." His lips twisted to the side in thought. "Though I swear I remember you scarfing them down at the DWMA Anniversary Celebration…"

Maka burned with embarrassment, her teeth grinding. "Shut up, Soul!"

He snapped his fingers, his expression claiming to have reached a discovery. "You're on your period, is that it?"

"Nooo!" She griped, slamming her palms onto the table.

Maka jolted from her seat, desperate to escape. Soul's callous fingers caught her by the arm. Rising from his chair, he reeled her backward into his chest. "Where do you think you're going?"

She tugged at her arm, a fruitless attempt. "Soul, let go!" She howled in protest, beet red. She could sense the triumphant look on his face from behind her, satisfied with his capture.

"You've been a real pain in my ass the last few days." The statement was nonchalant, contrary to the arm snaking around her waist. "I haven't even gotten so much as a 'thank you' for making breakfast." She wiggled in his grip, making small noises of discomfort.

"Thank you. Now let me go!" She growled back at him, prompting a chuckle from his lips. The laugh resounded in his chest, vibrating against her spine. He spun her in his grip to face him, clamping her chin between his thumb and forefinger- jerking her chin upward so that their eyes met.

"Were you expecting something different?" His voice grew low, cynical.

Unable to escape, Maka forwent any future attempts of retreat. She was trapped beneath a hypnotic gaze of amber and garnet, disrupting the normal pattern of her lungs. "I thought you'd treat me differently… as your g-girlfriend." She confessed.

Soul released her chin, resting his free hand onto her arm- his other still locked around her waist. "Girlfriend?" He parroted, as if the word was foreign to him. "I don't remember agreeing to _that_." The warmth of his embrace fell away, the realization hitting her like a cold bucket of water. She crumbled, disappointment washing over her features in a tidal wave of regret.

"Is that what you wanted?" His arms slithered back around her, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her heart spasmed, swarms of hope flooding back into her chest.

"Y-Yes." She breathed, nodding as his palm enveloped her cheek.

"What do you want?" His head dipped into the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. She shivered.

"T-To be your girlfriend." It came out as a plea. He hummed into her skin, just below her carotid artery.

"Hm? I didn't catch that." He teased. She could feel his grin.

She trembled beneath the sudden attention she was receiving, unearthing the copious amounts of tension that'd filled her body. "I want to be your girlfriend." She said with a little more affirmation.

His hands braced under her legs, sweeping her off the floor and guiding her legs around his waist. "You're mine, Maka." He affirmed in a hungry snarl, capturing her lips with his.

"Mmm!" Her surprise was muffled by the kiss, Maka melding into her partner's arms. Grasping for some kind of stability, her hands gripped onto his shoulders for dear life. His fingernails dug into her thighs, grinding her bottom lip between his teeth with a gentle tug. Her breath hitched, her fingers exploring to bury themselves in his hair.

He grunted softly in approval, dragging his tongue across her teeth. Her heart pounded in her chest, blood throttling through her veins and pooling into her absent mind. She could think of nothing but the innate pleasure she felt being touched by Soul. His kiss set her skin ablaze, her stomach riled into a circus act of flips and turns. It was such a novel coalition of terror and excitement, filtering deeper into a sensation she could only describe as pure desire. She hated him for the way he'd toy with her heart, reveling in her discontent. She hated the way he made her pulse fumble, her body malfunctioning into a fit of humid unsatisfaction. It was so goddamn _hot_.

His lips grazed over her cheek, along her jaw, and down towards her clavicle in a trail of raw, wet kisses. Her nerves were alive, sparking as he nipped bits of flesh between his teeth- his steaming tongue glazing over in apology. Her chest heaving, she divulged a whimper; conveying both her submission to him, and an aching plea for more. "Soul…"

He claimed her mouth once again, drowning her under his ruthless assault. He was endlessly demanding, his rough, large hands kneading her thighs until they were numb with a strange burning sensation. " _Soul_."

His red eyes avert to shimmering gems of green, simmering down to the sight of her slightly swollen lips. Delicately greeting them with his own, he ordered for her to separate them. "Part your lips, Maka."

"W-Why?" She began. Only silence followed, his hooded gaze daring for her to test the answer. Impatient, he gave her thighs a tight squeeze.

"Nngh!" The blonde squeaked, Soul taking the opportunity to gain entrance. The agile tip of his tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth, sliding against hers in a languid motion. She shuddered. The scent of him lingered on her tongue, defiling any reservations she'd once had. _Mmm. I could get used to that_. She thought, welcoming as his tongue tangled with hers. They slid back and forth feverishly, battling for dominance. Every inch of her body pressed into his, _needing_ to be closer to him. Not a sliver of space remained between their heat-riddled bodies, ravaging each other indulgently. The taste of his name on her tongue was truly addicting.

Catching his breath, Soul was the first to pull back from their entanglement. He rested his forehead against hers, allowing her to slide against his torso and onto the floor. Her legs wobbled momentarily before regaining their composure. "Now my little bookworm… has learned some French." He jibed playfully, a smile plastered across his features.

 **…**

Physical exams had not been deserted in high school. They were still required every six months by the DWMA and related associations to evaluate Field Agents like Soul and Maka. It was important they were in shape for any confrontation. Although, with the insane amount of training they were put through- she could hardly understand the need for the exam.

Maka shifted in discomfort as Nurse Marie did her rounds. Weight, blood pressure, height, reflexes… but that was hardly the worst of it. She wasn't terribly keen on watching another woman's hands on Soul. Even if it was just to get chest measurements. Shirtless. Her eyes narrowed at the scene. Soul was preoccupied with roaming thoughts, his eyes glued to the measuring tape. The moment the line of tape fell limp, she stiffened. This was truly the part she dreaded. It was her turn for measurements, thankfully behind a curtain. Still, female or not, Maka felt incredibly uncomfortable getting naked in front of others. Lingering insecurities had her ready to jump out of her skin, her cheeks pink as the Nurse close the curtain behind them. "Alright, Maka. I'm going to need you to take your shirt off." She said, her golden eyes skimming over a brown clipboard. There was no use in arguing. Either her top went off, or the mission was a failure. Quite the ultimatum- don't ya think?

She'd done this millions of times, but each time was nonetheless unnerving. She could hear Soul from the other side, tapping his foot in boredom. "Just get it over with!" He encouraged. She sucked in a breath, yanking the top over her head in one pull. The Nurse smiled gratefully, wrapping the tape measure around her bust.

"Does your bra have any padding?" The woman inquired dully, eyeing the tick marks on the tape. She could hear a snicker from the other side.

"Y-Yes. A little." She submit warily, resisting the urge to lean on her toes.

"Push up?" Marie raised her head just for a moment, before analyzing again.

"Yes." She whispered again.

After a thoughtful nod, she released the tape and went to jot down her findings on the clipboard. "Okay, then- I'll just be docking off two centimeters for a more accurate measurement." A more accurate measurement would've been possible without a bra in the way. But Maka couldn't do it. Each year she'd complain to Soul about the unpleasant woes of a physical exam. Not that he wasn't there to witness the half of it. However- most of her trauma rooted from sophomore year, when her Papa decided it best that _he_ measure his daughter. Spirit busted into the Gym Hall, ripping the curtains open while a 15-year old Maka was unhooking her bra. The memory was utterly mortifying. Black Star wouldn't shut up about her strawberry print bra until the whole school knew about the incident. Soul nearly knocked his teeth out for it.

Having taken her other (less-irksome) measurements, Marie dismissed Maka- allowing her to pull her clothes back on. Soul had an irritatingly mocking grin smacked across his face. "Still wearing padded bras, huh?"

"Shut up, Soul!" Maka grabbed him by the arm, dragging him out of the office.

"Have a nice day, you two!" Marie called after them, smiling as if to say ' _they get along so well, don't they?_ '

Soul quickly caught up pace with the seething blonde, twisting her grip so that their fingers intertwined. "Relax. I'm just sayin' – you don't need those anymore." Maka blushed, avoiding his gaze. "Look, none of that crap is going to happen while I'm around. You don't have to worry about your crazy Pops running in there. And Black Star isn't around to eavesdrop. The only person who is going to hear about your bra details, is me." He squeezed her hand. "I'm the only one who _should_ , anyway."

"So _ooul_!" She howled, her face burning a deep shade of cherry.

"Not that I won't tease you about it, though." He added, nudging her shoulder.

"Don't get too confident, Evans. Hardcover books still hurt like a bitch." She retorted coldly, but a smile was unmistakably glued to her lips.

Walking back out to the parking lot, she'd realized that Soul had somehow taken the lead along the way. It was a strange, but familiar dynamic. As much a Maka tended to take charge as his meister, Soul was still the leader in all things non-combat. It was likely the most comforting portion of their relationship. They both had some sense of control. One could always rely on the other, in an equal share. Perhaps she wouldn't call it equal. Soul had been there for her all this time.

She was knocked out of her train of thought hearing the engine of his motorcycle. "You getting on, Albarn?"

Maka shook her head, regaining her bearings. "Yeah." She swung her leg over the bike, wrapping her arms around his chest in a tight grip. The engine roared to life, its purr intensifying as Soul pulled out of the parking lot. As dangerous as he looked to other people; sharp teeth, red eyes, motorcycle, death scythe and all- she felt nothing but safe around him.

"Soul?" She hollered above the sound of the bike.

"Yeah?" He shouted back, not once rearing his eyes from the road.

"Thank you." She said a little softer, but the words still reached him. He didn't say a word, but the look on his face said it all.


	7. Chapter 7- Masochist

Before we get into some heavy plot thickening, how about something hot and heavy? As requested, this chapter is a long one.

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVEN- MASOCHIST**

 _ **MAKA**_

The briefing of the mission had injected a stream of tension into the pair. Nothing could be more horrifying than the resurfacing of BREW, a Demon Tool created for the benefit of humankind- only to become apart of the largest destructive campaign of the century. This was a device they'd left in a prison of black blood encasing the moon. Despite this, the moon had returned to its eerily gruesome image of a yellow crescent grin. The thought of madness rising wrung a wave of pure shock through their bones. There was no room for nerves with an apartment all to themselves, and only a few days to the mission. Hence why they called for a movie night.

It was a simple way to diverge from their troubles without overdoing it. It would take their minds off the strange hum they now shared in their veins- as if the black blood was slowly coming alive. The more she thought about the issue, the more she wanted to tackle the other, more _normal_ issues that flittered about her brain. Such as the dilemma of her newly established relationship status. It was a wonder how something so trivial could become so distracting. Things with Soul were fairly habitual. At least, they used to be. Ever since the words _girlfriend_ and _boyfriend_ came into the picture- she'd entered an entirely different universe. She'd never known this side of Soul Eater. Foremost, he was lazy, and witty. He took things at his own pace, never gave a second thought to anything that did not concern him, and always chased after the invigorating and exciting. He was compassionate, despite being as selfish as he is, and always put others before himself. Soul could be oddly thoughtful. She knew all these things throughout their partnership. Through battle, through the times he'd protected her with every ounce of his being; through his friendship with others. But the cool-headed, serious man she'd often known had completely changed.

Soul Evans was wilder than she ever could've imagined. He was a beast, armed with cunning and dastardly expertise. When driven with desire, he was insatiable- and would not rest until he was granted his wish. Understanding this part of him had led Maka to one simple truth. He'd been holding back.

For all the years they were together, he'd held back his feelings for the sake of their success. He'd buried himself in the idea that he was no more than a weapon to her. A tool to utilize to her fullest extent, but with no other purpose. His struggle showed in the juvenile years of their friendship, teasing or insulting his meister in order to push her further away. It wasn't long ago since they still bickered about the insignificant, hiding behind masks of indifference. Containing their feelings for each other had come with a roller coaster of emotional distress. And yet, here they were, unrestrained. They'd popped the cork of a shaken bottle of carbonated emotions that were now bursting. With a relationship hanging in the air, any of their buried desires were now justified. She didn't know what to expect.

Maka twirled a low-tied pigtail between her fingers, watching as the curly ends mingled with sashes of ribbon. It'd been awhile since she'd worn her once signature hairdo. These pigtails were far more relaxed, tied at the height of her collarbone with navy bows of ribbon. It was a nice feeling. She felt more feminine, or girlish even. Soul, on the other hand, wore his hair natural. He was known to have a plethora of hairstyles (many involving hair gel), but this one suited him most. She enjoyed watching the strands of silver and white merge freely.

He wore a familiar yellow jacket, crouching near the DVD selection under the TV stand. Maka sidled up behind him, bending to follow his explorative gaze. Crimson eyes shot sideways, catching the arrival of his blonde partner. "Find anything good?" She asked, nonchalant, rocking between her heel and toe.

A dimple baited his upturned lips, as if guarding a precious inside joke. "Yeah, but it's not really a movie." His eyes flickered between her and the rows of DVD titles.

"Hmmm," she sang thoughtfully, tapping a finger to her lips. There was a glistening sheen to her pout, indicating the use of some gloss. "How about this one?" She suggested, pointing out a _Deathsonian_ documentary.

He snorted, leaning back onto his palms to showcase his outrage. "Seriously, Maka? You're such a nerd." The girl pinkened at his words, waving a pointed finger in his face as she grappled for her defense.

"What! There is nothing wrong with _Deathsonian_! It's educational!" She shouted, imaginary steam rising from her head.

Soul rolled his eyes, blithely retrieving another DVD from the shelf and displaying the cover. "If you want to watch something educational…" The title read ' _Hot and Heavy 2: Midnight in Paris_ '. The cover of the DVD gave everything away. Everything.

Maka blushed, her expression a combination of anger and embarrassment. "W-Why do you have that?! …Don't tell me you like that kind of…?"

Soul laughed softly, tossing the explicit content back onto the shelf. "No, it doesn't belong to me. But I wanted to see the look on your face." He flashed a hyena grin. Maka crossed her arms, scowling. "Alright, how about this one?" He proposed, holding up the latest blockbuster thriller. Maka shrugged, giving her half-hearted approval. He sighed, shoving the movie back in its place. The title beside it piqued her interest. "What about that one?"

Soul pried it from the slightly more disorganized row of DVDs, studying the cover. It was the movie they'd wanted to see a couple months back- but never got the chance. So they'd purchased it on film hoping they could enjoy it at home. "I forgot about this." He mumbled, satisfied with her choice. Popping it into the Blu-ray player, he meandered over to the sofa. While the trailers rolled, Maka took it upon herself to make some popcorn- returning to a pitch black room. Soul had shut the lights off, the TV serving as the only illumination to guide her. She'd tripped multiple times on her journey across the living room. Thank goodness he couldn't witness her pitiful sense of direction. Sitting on the far end of the couch, she rested the bowl of popcorn between them. The darkness brought along with it a certain tension. Since when had she felt so antsy about the dark? Soul snatched the bowl from the middle, the glutton he was. "Soul! That's for both-" She felt a hand wrap around her arm, tugging her closer so that she rested against his chest.

"Why are you so far away?" He murmured impatiently, wringing her in closer- his arms coiled around her waist. His chin rested on her shoulder, pieces of his hair tickling her cheek.

"I-I um…" The blonde stuttered, pining for an excuse. "The popcorn, I wanted to make sure we could both reach it." Her heart was beating out of her chest, feeling the warmth of his torso radiate into her back. His breath chafed against the cartilage of her ear, causing her to shiver.

Something soft pressed against her lips, biting her tongue with salty flavor. "Liar." He said, pushing a kernel of popcorn into her mouth. "I can take care of that. So just stay." She gave a silent nod, gluing her eyes to the television while Soul presented another serving to her mouth.

His chest was solid, and rarely moved out of its even breathing pattern. It was difficult to read her weapon's aloof, and sometimes stoic demeanor. She couldn't tell if he was enjoying the movie, unable to see his face. But every so often, she would feel a pair of red eyes on her. She'd never been in this position before. It was nerve wracking. Being so close to him, all the while dealing with her internal dismay of attraction. How was one supposed to act around the person they're attracted to?

Curiously, she reached for one of his hands- the other still locked around her waist. Inhaling deeply, she counted to three, and intertwined their fingers. She felt so embarrassed. Wanting to hold his hand, even though the movie wasn't scary. She didn't need moral support to get through the film. And it wasn't the kind of hand holding when they were taking a friendly walk home. It was the kind that implied _I want to touch you_. Soul shifted slightly behind her, his gaze penetrating. "I can't feed you popcorn this way." He stated a matter-of-fact.

"I know." Her voice was elfin, her hand tightening into an iron grip that begged not to let go. He didn't respond, merely returning the force of her hand with a gentle squeeze. As time went on, Soul appeared less interested in the movie. His attention would drift, as would his patience as he frequently shifted his position. She could hardly blame him. The movie was terrible.

"I think I've had enough of this." Soul grumbled, reaching for the remote.

"What else are we supposed to do?" Maka vacillated, disheartened by her empty hand. The TV went black, the lights sibilated back on, and Soul faced her with a roguish grin. The look on his face made her want to go running for the hills. This couldn't be good.

"How about a game of strip poker?" She could've sworn in that moment that he was the same inane fourteen-year-old boy she'd known in high school.

"Like Hell."

That's what she said, and yet… Maka didn't know what had possessed her hormonal tirade of a body to agree to this stupid game. But at least it wasn't poker. No, this game was far more strategic. Truly a battle for victory. _Go_. A game that resembled a field of Othello pieces, but with a far simpler rulebook. It was a game warlords of the Sengoku period indulged in. A game of conquest. One would win by surrounding the most territory, claiming the majority of their opponent's pieces. Essentially, it was the equivalent of a solid battle-plan.

Soul clearly had the advantage during a game of poker. However, on the Go battlefield- they were equals. Sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, the board was set between them. With each loss of a stone, a new piece of clothing would be removed. In this moment, they'd be lying down the remains of their dignity for the sake of salacious wagers. The man posing as her rival was perched with a patient, expectant smile upon his lips; his chin resting between his fingertips.

Grazing her fingertips over a white stone, she weighed the penalty of backing out now. So, one might ask- what made her accept the terms of ending up butt-naked at a loss? The stakes of winning a full game of Go had come bearing a fruitful prize. The power to give the loser any command for the duration of a single hour. A worthy prize, indeed.

Sure, she had plenty of opportunities to boss Soul around on the battlefield. But receiving full-reign as his girlfriend? _That_ would be interesting. She reveled in the idea of holding the upper hand, the danger-prone death scythe at her mercy. _Mmm._ Yes, she hungered for control in all aspects. Including the submission of her weapon.

Analyzing the stone in her palm, she made her first move. Her serpentine orbs narrowed, feline-like as she observed the man across from her. His eyebrows were crinkled in deep consideration, mapping out a number of plays dancing in pools of merlot. Each move was carefully planned, without haste. Though Soul was highly decisive- moving his lithe fingers at lightning speed to capture one of her white stones. Maka glowered at the board, reaching for the ribbon ties in her hair.

"Not those." He stipulated. "It's no fun if you cheat, sweetheart."

Maka bared her teeth. "Don't call me that."

" _Babe_ is a no, then?" His eyebrows shot up in amusement.

Shedding her pink cardigan, she cast a glare in his direction. "That stuff is embarrassing."

He leered at her arrogantly. "I'll keep that in mind."

With a huff, she returned her attention to their warring territories. Maka was a brainiac, but Soul was an animal. He was a hunter by nature, hellbent on devouring his dearest prey. A fire burned in her eyes, sparking in her tummy and swelling into her abdomen. She would not lose. After three moves, she'd managed to valiantly acquire one of his black stones. She beamed at her victory, releasing a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

Soul seemed almost pleased with her prowess, shrugging off his jacket. His biceps flexed noticeably as he moved to discard the article of clothing, shifting deliciously beneath his black long sleeve. Without so much as a comment, he mobilized one of his pawns into her domain- taking another stone hostage. "An eye for an eye…" He recited sweetly, ruby irises swirling with vengeance as they spurred to pore over her next baring. Maka surveyed the contents of her spared clothing. She'd dressed up a bit more than their average night in. There remained a pair of striped pink thigh highs, a matching pink gingham skirt, an ivory button up and her complimentary undergarments. She opted for the socks, only to be interrupted by an overly opinionated weapon.

"Pick something else." He insisted. Maka scoffed at him, throwing her arms up in chagrin.

"Might as well choose for me!" She proclaimed, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"What an intriguing idea… very well then." He took upon her offer quite seriously, tracing a thumb over his lip in deliberation. "The skirt. I want it off."

Her pulse fumbled for a moment, cowering under his sudden demand. "Yeah right."

"I could just undress you, myself." He made no effort to lean forward, but she didn't dare question his ability to pounce.

"Fine!" She surrendered, her dainty hands searching for the side-zipper. Clumsily, she wiggled out of her skirt, cursing the pair of thigh highs for not saving her this embarrassment. She utilized every advantage to cover her panties, pulling the trim of her blouse between her legs. Unfortunately, her blouse wasn't oversized enough to tug any further, so she was left completely exposed. The cheeky pair of blush pink underwear fit snugly at her hips, confidently flaunting a set of lacy patterns that were all too revealing. She felt humiliated.

Soul made a low hum of approval, his eyes darkening with debauched intentions. Ignoring him, she focused her attention to the board. She was running low on territory, and soon would be forced to forfeit her turn. Scaling the risk, she set her move- monitoring Soul's expression carefully. His face didn't so much a move, as he used his turn to obstruct her remaining liberties. There was nothing left for him to conquer. And nothing left for her to escape. She quickly realized they'd been playing a game of cat and mouse. The winner smiled at her charmingly, gesturing to her shirt. He gave the air that she was lucky she hadn't come out of the game completely nude. With a defeated (and somewhat angry) grunt, she unbuttoned the blouse and tossed it to the side. At this point, she was too frustrated with her loss to bother being abashed.

"You clearly were motivated to get me naked." She accused, crossing her arms beneath her chest.

"Maka," her name came out in a purr, stirring emotions of craving underneath her soft exterior. "I don't need an excuse to undress you, believe me." The need to protest flurried within her mind, her nails digging into her palms. She was buzzing with thoughts, and yet her head was empty. Void of any emotion except for the clear vexation she felt towards her partner.

 _ **...  
SOUL  
** **...**_

With no regard for the board game lying between them, he lunged at her- pinning her to the carpeted floor. Wide green eyes gaped at him, batting with the realization of their newfound position. Red warmed her pasty complexion, her lips parted in demurral. Such an innocent expression she wore, unknowing of the desires she denied herself. This might have been his favorite expression, watching her honest eyes burrow with hunger- while her eyebrows tangled into refutation. Drawing the pad of his thumb over her lips, he surveyed her reaction; slowly pushing his thumb into her mouth. Her tongue instantly curled around his finger, welcoming his presence. He craved the feeling of that wet warmth. Preferably, somewhere beneath his waistline. She appeared to debate whether or not to bite him, but seemed to recall the effect of their little bet. Such a contradictory woman, she was.

Retracting his finger from her mouth, he traced the outline of her lips once more. "So obedient. I wonder if I'd have this effect on you without that bet."

"Tick tock, Soul. Your hour's running out." Maka goaded, gloating in her time limit.

He chuckled, running a hand over the cage of pink lace that held her breasts. "You sly thing." He dipped to murmur into her neck. "By the time I'm done with you, you won't want me to stop."

He intended to enjoy every second of that hour, ensuring she'd beg to continue. He adored how pure, and bashful his little meister could be. The way her skin burned underneath him, and the way she'd contort her expression into one of displeasure; all in spite of her delight.

Adjusting their position, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her towards the bedroom. "Don't worry, I promise not to do anything you won't enjoy." He shot her a crooked smile, lying her down onto his bed.

The poor girl seemed at a loss for words, and he wasn't aiming to push his luck. Holding his willing, half-naked, now-girlfriend wasn't something to take for granted. The last thing he wanted was to scare her. Running his hands along the bare skin of her waist, he noted the way her facial expressions shifted between pleasure, and anger. Her fingers itched to cover herself, fishing to obscure her waist. Soul seized her wrists, pinning them above her head a bit harshly. Gazing into those enigmatic orbs of emerald, he tightened his grip. "I'm giving you a safe word. If anything becomes too much, if you want to stop, I want you to say ' _Red_ '. Understand?" He waited for her to give a short nod, before releasing her from his hold. A safe word was necessary with this girl. Knowing her for this long, he had the feeling she was the type to say _stop_ , even when she was enjoying herself. And to hell if he was going to stop because she had a bratty habit of lying.

He could feel her staggering pulse against his tongue, as he lazily traced the contours of her neck. It was a sexy, chaotic rhythm that got his blood pumping. Meanwhile, she writhed under him as his fingers explored the decadence of her bra. It was a cute little thing. Luckily, with one squeeze, he was satisfied enough to continue downward. Otherwise he might've rendered the garment torn to shreds. But this was a test drive. Nothing too serious. Despite what Maka thought, Soul was rather skilled in taking things slow. At least, when he was in control.

She had such delicious, supple skin. He felt it with every kiss he'd led down between her breasts, the expanse of her stomach, and straight past her underwear (to her obvious disappointment). Sliding his palms underneath her legs, he hoisted her thighs up onto his shoulders. He admired how tempting her thighs looked, halfway covered by a pair of striped pink socks. His mouth salivated, drawing closer to sink his teeth into the soft patch of flesh. The blonde squealed at his sudden bite, squirming in his grip. Soul wouldn't let her escape. He yanked her thighs back down into place, taking care to leave a number of purple hues down her pale skin- courtesy of his razor sharp teeth.

" _Soul_." A moan poured from her lips, begging to continue his ministrations elsewhere. He'd planned to tease her a bit longer. But once his eyes laid upon the wetness soaking through her underwear- he couldn't help himself.

He nuzzled into her heat, inhaling deeply to ingrain the scent of the woman beneath him into his mind. Dragging his tongue along the cloth that separated them, he assessed the mound- mapping out his desired location. Coming across a little nub, his teeth quickly took hold of it. A pair of hands knotted into his hair, eliciting a ragged groan from his throat. " _Maka_ …" He hissed, tantalizing her clit between his teeth. Her legs tensed, her spine arched, giving in to a yelp of ecstasy. _Yes,_ he thought, _I want to hear that again_. His hands found a new vantage point, gripping her by the ass to allow him better access. He nipped and sucked at her clit, giving little rest to his erratic partner.

"Soul, _please!_ " She tugged at his hair. He knew what she wanted. But he wasn't going to give her the full satisfaction of removing her soaked panties. Not yet.

Nudging, nipping, and abusing the little nub between her legs had her shaking. "Soul, Soul, _Soul_ …!" Giving one last pull between his teeth, she convulsed in his arms.

Beads of sweat dribbled down her clavicle, to the peaks of her breasts. She was gasping for oxygen, her sated green eyes watching as he emerged from her lower half- a smirk plastered on his lips. Out of breath, she made small grabbing motions with her hands- asking that he came closer. He happily obliged, wrapping his arms around her waist with a chaste kiss to the lips.

"The hour's not up." Maka piped up shyly, her eyes eagerly glancing between the clock and Soul.

He chuckled at her uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "I don't need an hour to make my girlfriend cum." He said rather crudely, victory glistening in his scarlet eyes.

Maka reddened at the sound of the word ' _cum'_ leaving his lips. "What if your girlfriend wants more…?" She trailed off in a small voice, peeking up at him from beneath the brims of her eyelashes.

Soul tackled her to the bed, resting his forehead to her own with his lips curled maniacally. "Then she'll just have to wait."

* * *

 **A.N.**

Don't worry, there's more where that came from! I know I'm evil. Guess you'll just have to wait until the next chapter. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	8. Chapter 8- Brand New Emotions

This is a very special chapter! It's written entirely in Soul's POV, a completely different change to our normal chapter layout. Hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

 **CHAPTER EIGHT- BRAND NEW EMOTIONS**

 _ **SOUL**_

Soul realized that a sexually-deprived Maka would quickly land him straight into a prescription of irritated blonde. She was pouting as she rather furiously chopped away at a spread of fruit. Her force was unforgiving, the knife clacking to the cutting board with frightening precision despite her outrage. Slivers of apple and diced bananas were leaking profound amounts of juice onto the counter, and all over her girlish apron. She'd been preparing breakfast at a meticulous rate for the past thirty minutes- torturing his noisy stomach with an undefined point of completion. The previous night had been a maelstrom for both of them. Testing the waters of their newly erected relationship- (no pun intended) had resulted in a cacophony of adjustment. His meister was entirely new to the prospect of anything remotely romantic or intimate. And despite his brief history of makeshift dating- he felt just as callow to the subject as his partner. In the past he'd messed around with some old flames, mainly with the intent to snuff out his developing feelings for a certain bookworm.

He knew that she was oblivious to his undeterred loyalty, which he'd attempted to betray on multiple occasions. He'd always wanted Maka. Regardless of the couple years he spent trying to test his attraction to other females. Or if he should doubt his heterosexual tendencies. Yes, he'd contemplated being gay. The theory quickly being shelved thanks to a certain Sunday-afternoon barbecue at Kid's that involved swimsuits. The memory evoked an image of Maka in a promiscuous red bikini, riling a number of hormonal urges within him.

He regret having tried to be intimate with anything that wasn't Maka. There is a guilt that piles in his stomach, thinking he may have abandoned her for that slot of time.

Being anywhere beyond a three-foot radius of his meister was downright unbearable. The wavelength of her soul called to him like a shared lifeline, allowing him to attend to her every need. It was his purpose to serve her. It itched at him like a suspended heroine addiction if he wasn't aware of her wavelength at all times. Through their bond he could pinpoint a variety of things. Hunger, frustration, fear, madness, confusion, drowsiness… Even strings of thought every once and awhile.

Briefly, he wondered if Black Star experiences this with Tsubaki; an unpronounced form of psychic mind reading. Considering that the blue-haired whelp can't keep his mouth shut, he denied the possibility. He would've heard about it at a level that threatened the healthy function of his eardrums.

It never quite occurred to him as odd to be in a constant, minor resonance with her. The variable of black blood had proved to make things seem a lot more menial than usual. There were times when he'd praise the bond for existing between them, and other times when he couldn't sleep for three days straight because Maka was pulling all-nighters for a final. It was a strange sensation, being connected with her at all times.

Right now, he could feel the pot of rage she stirred over the gas stove. He'd catch small remarks such as, " _arrogant asshole_ " coloring her frazzled brain. If he paid enough attention, he could sense an underlying theme of insecurity poking through. This was a direct example to why he'd signed himself up for nightly Jazz sessions. The distance, and the music would provide ample disturbance to the bond. He was able to hide his rampant feelings, all while ignoring hers.

However, there was no need for hiding anything anymore. They'd officially crossed the line of romantic interests, and have been treading the path of 'lifelong partners' for years. He no longer found a need to feel insecure.

As a teenager, he was undeniably wired to become the epitome of _cool_. He craved the attention of his meister. In every sense he had become her loyal dog- all whilst exhibiting a nasty bark. He wanted her praise. He wanted to be the spotlight of her world, consuming all the allotted space within her attention-span. He wanted every expression she owned to belong to him, and solely him. At the time, she was a social butterfly. And he, was ironically introverted. He'd exhaust from Black Star's weekend parties, needing a full twelve hours to recuperate. All while she seemed to glow in the presence of their friends.

Growing out of high school meant growing out of his inferiority complex. They were now apart of the real, adult world. A world where they didn't have time to waffle over how _cool_ they were. He needed to protect his meister _confidently_. If he was to be her weapon, he would become _everything_ she needed to be _safe_. Before protecting the innocent souls of the world, her safety was his priority. And unless he could _guarantee_ that- he had no right to be by her side.

Being _cool_ had become more of a philosophy than a goal. And impressing his crush had become sidetracked to keeping her alive. He still struggled with the madness, and he was still torn over a brother-complex. He still worried about fulfilling her to the height that she deserves. But he never dared question whether he was _good enough_ to do so.

It's then, when her mind veered into the direction of self-worth, that he revoked the comfort of his chair to storm the kitchen. He didn't care that she'd gotten her head ducked into the refrigerator like an ostrich, or that she was searching for the expiration date on a carton of whole milk. He unlatched her from the fridge, and simultaneously her thoughts as he dominated her attention. _Don't_ , he thought, the words appearing to reach her as her eyebrows knit together with guilt. His palms absorbed the dip of her waist, his grip firm. She stared at him with troubled eyes, and pretended she had more interest in the floor than him.

"That is _not_ why I stopped last night." He ordained, a hand rising to cup her face. She shuffled through the bond, reaching him with feelings of failure and uncertainty.

Shit. He's the one who fuckin' failed, if she's feeling like _this_. She prodded at him through the bond, meekly effusing the desire for an answer. She wondered why he hadn't taken her then. She wonders if she'd done anything to his body at all. If she was even _capable_ of arousing him.

"Fuck, Maka." His hand splayed over his distorted facial features, his eyes shut in agitation. The bridge of his nose felt warm with the accumulation of pink. "Of _course_ you do. You make me so damn horny I don't know what to do with myself." He admit, his face growing hotter at the submission.

"But I'd like to think I have some level of self-control." Soul amended, a sigh rippling through his chest. He could feel her amusement, and tints of satisfaction at the color of his face. He'd inflated her ego. Which, he didn't mind doing at all.

"Then what are you waiting for?" She pressed, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. She expressed her displeasure at his lack of shirtless-ness through the bond. He snorted.

"You're a virgin. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" She shifted uncomfortably, matching the color of his cheeks. "I want to treasure you. We've been together for a matter of _days_. I want this relationship to be different, separate from our partnership. I want you to understand that this is permanent." He'd more than intended it to be that way. He didn't want her to feel empty, like he'd go runnin' the minute he'd claimed her chastity. As if he'd showcase her like a goddamn trophy.

"Permanent?" She echoed, savoring the word.

"Yeah. And while we're on the topic, I don't really like callin' you my girlfriend either." Soul grit his teeth. "It sounds _temporary_." The word came out in loathing. "Lover, Partner, and… someday, Wife." The label tingled on his tongue. He could sense her entire psyche falling into a pit of vertigo. "Someday, I… I think I'd want marriage." He paused, "with you."

He was terrible at expressing himself, but he made an effort to ease her grief. At first, the words had tumbled out faster than his brain could comprehend. He wasn't the type to think about marriage. Maybe he _was_. The whole concept was terrifying. He liked Maka. So much that he would _die_ for her. Yet, somehow, life as her weapon partner is too short lived. He wanted to be with her in the years to come, by her side. He wanted to wake up to the smell of strawberry-scented blonde hair in the morning. He wanted her by his side forever.

So surely, somewhere along the lines, marriage was a possibility. Hell, who was he kidding. The idea _thrilled_ him. Maka giving herself to him, wholly, and fully for eternity. How could he _not_ want that? The possessive bastard, he was.

It was embarrassing for the both of them, and the awkwardness of the tension made her laugh. He questioned if she was taking him seriously, his wavelength flaring in annoyance.

"Mm. You'd make a good husband." The blonde concurred, a smile peeking through her wicked lips. His heart thumped at her response.

"Glad ya think so." He mumbled, pulling her closer into his arms. He was doing his best to hide the pleased flush of red on his face, and the palpitating of his heart. In an effort for distraction, he felt around her wavelength for signs of remaining uncertainty. All hints of her insecurity bubbled away into the bond- and he could feel her utter delight as she listened to the sound of his racing heartbeat.

 **…**

People are complicated. There was only one face she could show to the world, and only one face that the world could see. But he was privileged to see all of the faces she could make. There was more than one side to Maka Albarn. There was the face she wore when she was his meister. Incomparably strong, calculative, and courageous. He understood that her determination knew no bounds. There was the face she wore when they'd face off during a game of _Go_. The way her brows would crinkle in concentration, her fists curled as she turned hellbent on winning. There's the face she'd make when she's in uncharted area. She couldn't stand not being the expert. She hated when she wasn't in control. He loved the way blood rushed to her puffed cheeks in those moments. The man couldn't help but swell with affection for every expression she continued to show him.

Through their shared wavelength, he'd been given to chance to possess every part of her beautiful imagination. In that way, he was selfish. Greedy. Soul Eater Evans was more than just a brooding pianist. Sometimes he's a metalhead, and sometimes he yearned for something more stimulating than a three-day nap. Sometimes, he wanted her more than anything. And sometimes, he wondered if he's really _good_ for her. There are parts of his body that fester with carnal desire, and others that bark at the idea of appeasing his inner beast. Sometimes, he wondered, if that greed would consume him.

"If I were a sin, I would be Greed." He reasoned, his red irises absorbed in the tiny grooves on the ceiling. His feet were resting in Maka's lap, on the soft pillows of her thighs, while she ran a needle through his worn yellow jacket sleeve. She's focused. Her wide green gems never moved from the small zigzag of stitches she's implanted into the seam, her lips indefinitely pursed. Her tongue was pressing into her cheek; a strange habit she has when she's concentrating. It's awfully distracting.

"If you were a sin, you'd be Sloth." She argued, though her gaze never met his face. Again, he felt the greed puff up inside him- wanting to see her stupid face focused on nothing but him. He didn't care about the damn hole in his jacket sleeve.

"Oh?" He intoned with interest.

Maka smiled at the jacket, pinching the thread and needle between her fingers as she pulled another stitch into place. "Mm… Maybe you'd be Gluttony." She surmised, licking her lips before returning her attention to the wounded sleeve. Her mouth is so _distracting_.

"You think _I'm_ a glutton?" He snorted, folding his arms behind his head as a cushion. "Have you seen Black Star place an order for take-out? He puts the damn restaurant through a reckoning."

She laughed, rolling her eyes at him. The motion kindled a corporeal urge within him. He wants her mouth. He wants to grab her by the chin and claim her over-active, cheeky tongue. He wants all of her. He wants to bend her over and leave sweltering pink hand-prints like a tattoo on her ass- for rolling those absurdly beautiful eyes that refuse to glance his way. This woman could make him greedy, and a glutton.

"You're a glutton for food, but even more for souls. Remember that time you tried to snag that Al Capone mission from Black Star? I would've had to bring a novel to watch you down all 99 of those souls." She scoffed, lining the needle up to pass through bunched up yellow fabric.

"I wasn't being serious, but that would have been a feast fit for a king." He sighed, trying to recall the last time a soul had placated his greedy/gluttonous stomach. He felt her shift under the weight of his ankles, her forest-imbued eyes landing on him with sudden curiosity. It's a childlike expression, befitting of her ribbon-tied pigtails.

"Soul, I was just wondering…" She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, immediately demanding the attention of an aloof demon-scythe. "What do souls _taste_ like?" Her ankles crossed, and he could feel her thighs contract. "It's just… you seem to enjoy them so much…"

It certainly hadn't been the first time she's asked. After all, there weren't very many weapons who took it upon themselves to inhale the soul like a _meal_. If anything, it was more common amongst those who intended to become a kishin. Which made the hobby all the more disturbing. He'd explained the topic briefly on multiple occasions, but never truly divulged an answer. Mostly for the fear of grossing her out.

His scarlet eyes darted to her neurotic expression, gauging how much he should actually disclose.

"It's not so much the taste." He said at first, monitoring her carefully. "It's the way it _feels_ on the way down. The texture." He could feel his mouth salivate at the thought. "There is a flavor, but it's usually subtle. Nothing compared to the way it slides down your throat, and settles into your stomach. It's insanely satisfying."

For a moment she looked contemplative, rather than disgusted like he'd originally guessed. She's so deep in thought, that she doesn't realize that there's still a needle in her hands- accidentally pricking her finger. She hissed, jolting her hand away from the culprit.

"Idiot. Give it here." He scolded, swinging his legs off her lap so that he can sit up properly. She's fussing to put the jacket aside while he took her hand into his care. A small bead of blood had surfaced onto the tip of her index finger, though the injury was minor. The color had a luster to it, rich and inviting as it threatened to pool down her finger. For a moment, he swore he could smell it. Without a second thought, he took her finger into his mouth- her protest delayed by shock. Swiping his tongue over the wound, the ball of blood dissolved across his tongue in a flavor as addictive as sugar. He had half a mind to suck out some more, until she yanked her finger from between his lips.

"What are you doing?!" She squawked, holding her hand protectively. There's a vivid rush of blood across her nose bridge.

Panning his tongue over his teeth, he could offer nothing but a small shrug. "Cleaning your wound." He lied.

She's not satisfied with his answer, rising from their couch haven. " _Dog._ " She snubbed, but he's too fascinated to care. Blood, the substance that tasted like a mouthful of metal- suddenly had hints of honey and _strawberry_. The revelation irked him. His craving for souls was practically a social norm at this point, but _blood_? He scratched the back of his neck, saliva washing his tongue with the aftertaste of her.

"Sorry." He mumbled apologetically, but felt no remorse inside his hollow chest. He could only feel his aversion towards the box of band-aids in the medicine cabinet over the bathroom sink. His toes prickled with the need to rampage the house in search of any bandages he could find. And, proceed to throw all said bandages out of their three-story window.

Considering the action would just be asking for the hardcover collision of a book to the brain- he cemented his limbs to the floor. Maka (unfortunately) didn't sustain a papercut when unwrapping the band-aid, sticking it tightly around her affronted finger. She noticed he couldn't stop staring, and stuck her little rosy tongue out at him.

"What, are you a vampire now? Don't tell me you like blood better than souls." Her pigtails swayed as she placed a hand on her hip, teasing.

"No, your blood just tastes like dog water. That's all." He grunted, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wishes it were true. If only it were true. Because the truth freaks him out more than he'd admit, and he was starting to think his greed might actually consume him. It's an experience that toyed with the stability of his conscience and all that he knew of right and wrong. He hadn't experienced such a horrifying phenomenon since the black blood had entered his system. It was a painful little pest that, once Medusa was out of the picture, was left to the crazed silver-haired freak that lived in a house of sutures. The freak that, he now had to pay a (likely traumatic) visit to.

* * *

 **A.N.**

Lovely cliffhangers and now heavy plot building. Do you think you can handle more?

I know _plenty_ of you guys are hung up on the "DESIRE" part of the plot. But has anyone wondered where the "Devil" part comes in?

Guess you'll just have to find out next time...


	9. Chapter 9- Inner Demons

Please look forward to chapter updates in the future!

* * *

 **CHAPTER NINE- INNER DEMONS**  
 _ **  
SOUL**_

Cancerous smog befouled the dimly-lit room, his shoes tapping loudly against the grey ceramic tile. Papers littered the desk at the far end of the expanse, the space mainly occupied by a variety of glass tanks, test tubes, and the distinct scent of formaldehyde. This laboratory was the last place he wanted to be. It brought up a number of memories he'd rather not revisit, during the time of his exposure to _black blood_.

The diagonal scar that cleaved his chest in two, throbbed in remembrance of the day. The day that he'd laid down his life for his meister, the girl who had refused to leave his side even in death. They'd blindly danced through the torrents of madness and oncoming slew of danger. He'd sworn he'd always be there to protect her. And yet, here he stood. In the same lab he'd been saved- only to become her number one threat. He was a selfish man, alright. Too selfish to give her up, even if it meant he would be the one to kill her.

Soul grimaced at the fatal mixture of cigarettes and oxidized methanol, resisting the urge to cough. His lungs urged to reject whatever pungent concoction the professor had been hot-boxing. Hair the color of cement glinted under the foreboding light of his desktop, the makeshift man adjusting his glasses inertly. "Soul. How interesting of you to drop by." Stein observed blatantly. Soul mimicked his level of enthusiasm to a staggering degree. This madman was about as pleasant as Maka's father. He was an emotionless pawn to Lord Death. A freak that only concerned himself with the hunger for knowledge, and little else.

"I need you to run tests on me." The white-haired man stated plainly, his hands stuffed into his freshly-stitched pockets. He stroked at the inner seams with his thumb, lovingly. The shade of his yellow sleeves reminded him of the meister he left at home, probably stuffing her nose in a four-inch-thick novel by now.

Whether or not he could return to her as he protector, would depend on this visit.

Stein reached for the screw protruding from his skull, winding it like a tinker-toy as it clicked away loudly. "You caught an STD?" He accused comically.

Soul smacked a hand to his forehead in annoyance. It wasn't the time for his idiotic jokes. " _No_. Not that kind of test!" How could he even _think_ that he'd been with anyone _other_ than…

The gears in his swivel chair creaked as he spun to face him, an apathetic chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Alright, what seems to be the problem, then?" He spoke with a cigarette wedged between his teeth.

"Aside from the fact I might contract lung cancer?" Soul replied flatly. His eyes deterred from the sight of the stitched-up scientist, running a hand through his hair. "Maka hurt herself." He sighed, hesitant to divulge any further.

"Is she alright?" His brows disappeared beneath his hairline. It was good to know the doctor possessed the slightest bit of concern.

"She's fine." Soul assured him, rocking back on his heels. " _I'm_ the one who's not." He squeezed his eyes shut, unsure how to even begin. His stomach churned with legions of acid wearing on the lining of his innards. Sand chafed at the pipes of his throat. His mouth went dry. How lame. He could barely get the words out.

"I've developed an appetite for…" He paused, nails digging into his palms.

 _Say it._ "Blood." He choked out. " _Her_ blood."

Stein wound the screw in his head, emitting a short hum of interest. " _Blood?_ " He echoed, his face scrunching- conforming to an expression of scientific curiosity.

Soul was growing impatient, his teeth ground together in frustration. The premise for being here was enough to irk him, let alone its resident. Every minute in that hell-hole of a lab made his skin crawl. There was a mixture of ripe anxiety and yearning that was drawing his being into a cataclysm. Being far away from his meister never sat well with him.

 _Maka…_ Her name was a fresh reminder to his newly discovered urge. An urge that could quite literally bring her to the brink of death if he wasn't careful.

Stein drew the cigarette from his lips, exhaling more noxious fumes into the limited air space. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes growing a rare shade of stone-cold serious. "It's not the black blood."

All hope that still resided within his withering core perished. He wanted to blame these symptoms on an infection. An illness. A defect. Anything. The black blood was his only scapegoat. And without its fault, he'd be left to hang for his sins.

"I know you, Evans. You've fought quite admirably with your inner _demon_ …" His vacant stare chilled the liquor pumping through his veins. "There is a limit to how much you can contain. There's a limit to how much you can _suppress_ your soul."

"I'm not suppressing anything." Soul bit back, though his retort did not stop the professor from continuing his baseless accusations.

"You had an appetite for souls prior to the _transfusion_. While I will say it's uncommon, it's almost unprecedented for a non-kishin." The professor dropped his half-burned cancer stick to the floor, grinding out the embers with his foot.

"The hell it is. I'm not _anything_ like those kishin." Soul growled, baring his teeth. If he _dared_ assume that he was hunting _human_ souls…

"No, you're not." Stein said simply, standing from his chair.

"Unless you have the answer, genius, will you just run the goddamn tests?" He insisted, his right hand fisted in his jacket pocket. It was like he was trifling with him- all for the sake of his sick idea of amusement. Talking to him was like volunteering for a fucking social experiment.

"I don't need to run any tests on you. Your soul tells me everything I need to know." That's right. The creep could see his soul.

He kept his idle hands in his lab coat, taking a few steps towards him. "That little devil inside of you is nothing more than a figment of your imagination."

His words echoed throughout the room with an eerie chill.

"He is a _part_ of you. He's the manifestation of everything you've managed to keep under wraps until now. But you are a Death Scythe, now. Amplified, modified, and unleashed into a form that can no longer contain your demonic nature."

 _Demonic_. His blood slowed in his veins, congealing and melting into a shock. Realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. White hair. Blood eyes. Monstrous teeth. He was the spitting image of Hell's Reaper. He was the very creature that Maka and him spent years battling. A demon.

"Perhaps if you kept in contact with your brother, this might have not been such a big shock."

The mention of his brother tipped his emotions on overload. Their relations were more than strained to say the least. "Wes has nothing to do with this." He snarled, resisting the urge to bash the guy's face in. That wouldn't be very cool. Almost as uncool as losing his wits. His world was seconds from crumbling beneath his seemingly stable feet.

"Your kind use blood and souls as an energy source. And while you might crave a soul as mildly as you crave normal food- that will change." Soul gripped for any ounce of normalcy to his words. " _Maka_ , has a Grigori soul. A rare, and highly coveted type. It's also known to be extremely tempting to demons." Stein removed his glasses, signifying the grimness of the situation. "Whatever attraction you feel towards you meister is _predatory_."

His chest tightened with remorse, wishing he could unwill all that he had learned. "Then why haven't I been reported to Lord Death? Am I not putting her in danger?"

Stein's gaze seeped into him like a brand on his very soul. "Because I trust the love you have for your meister, will keep you sane."

"And if it doesn't?" He bit back, unconvinced. For all he knew, he could go completely rabid the moment his black blood took over.

"It will." Stein said with a rather heavy amount of conviction.

 **...**

The front door nearly splintered at the sheer force inflicted upon its chipping exterior. Maka came bounding into the living room, the ceiling still quaking from Soul's abuse. Ashen waves of blonde entered his peripheral vision, demanding his attention. His scarlet eyes veered to her pink lips, swelling with blood as she stretched them into a display of affection. He could sense the battering of her beating heart, sloshing blood vigorously at the sight of him. She was happy to see him.

"Where have you been?" She probed cheerily. Sure enough, there was a book tucked into her right palm- a finger wedged between the pages as a temporary bookmark. His chest wound and uncoiled all at once.

"None of your business, nerd." He replied coldly, brushing past her in pursuit of sanctuary. The incessant pounding of her heart had him on a route to certain disaster.

Those absurdly pink lips glowered at him. "Hey! Soul Eater!" She called after him, reaching for his shoulder.

He caught her wrist, his grip vice-like. Her delicate fingers had grazed a primal territory that was now on high alert. His reaction time was reduced to a matter of seconds. " _What?_ " He spat, his dark eyes boiling with something cynical.

Her resolve caved, staring in disbelief at her weapon. Orbs of emerald were shot wide, dejected by his actions. The muscles in her cheeks hardened, rising into tribulation. Her bottom lip trembled. "…I just …" She tried to speak, failing to form words. He could feel the pulse of her veins against his palm, holding her wrist with inhuman strength. It called to him like sweet wine, the fragrance tickling his nostrils.

Suddenly the vision of her blood vessels were so clear, tempting him in strings of blue beneath her milky skin. It took everything he had to release her, retreating to his room.

Anger now painted the colorful blonde's personality, ramming through the walls of their bond and straight into his room. "What is up with you today?!" She shouted at him, daring enough to take another swipe at his torso. Her hands had barely reached the yellow fabric of his jacket, before they were pinned flush against the wall. His hands were her captor, administering imaginary handcuffs around her thrashing arms. He was heaving oxygen, greedily absorbing the smell of her fragrant essence. It would be so easy to slice her open… _Control, damn it._ He needed to get a grip.

He'd been so consumed by his new meal-source, he hadn't even witnessed her horror-stricken face. The mere sight of her- _terrified_ by _him_ \- was enough to wrangle his senses. His grip loosened on her wrists as he hung his head low. What was he supposed to say?

"Soul." She uttered his name shakily, brushing the bridge of her slender nose with his own. She nudged him as if to say: _look at me_. Slowly, he willed his eyes to meet with pools of wavering green. He wished he could get lost in them, wading through mossy fields of foliage and forest. Such beautiful gems… such beautiful _, fragile_ gems. They split light in so many crooked fragments that he found himself memorizing- all before he broke the masterpiece before him.

"I _am_ Greed." He rumbled, his throat bobbing. Recalling their previous conversation, he nestled his forehead into her neck. The sound of her blood flow was far louder there. "I am Gluttony…" The tip of his nose traced her carotid artery. "I am _Lust_." He grunted, resisting the urge to sink his teeth in.

"Soul, what are you…?" She trailed off, regressing into the wall behind her.

He drew back, hooded eyes meeting her disturbed features. "I am the embodiment of sin, Maka. I'm a demon."

Maka shifted in his grip. "A demon-scythe." She stated with a quizzical tone. "I'm pretty aware of that- considering I'm your Meister and all…"

A snarl rippled through his chest, as if by instinct. "No, Maka. A demon. A soul-eating, blood-sucking **demon**."

She blanched, desperate to shake off the seriousness to his words. "I don't understand."

He scoffed at her, uncaging her from the wall. "Never thought I'd hear those words out of your mouth."

Then again, he never thought he'd ever crave to end her entire existence, either.

"Soul, this isn't funny." She censured, her arms surrounding her waist protectively.

"It's not a joke." He rested a palm flat to the wall beside her head. "I'm supposed to _protect_ you. But I was too much of a selfish bastard to admit I'm the one putting you in danger."

"That's nonsense-" She interjected.

"I was with Stein. That's why I wasn't home. The fucking prick knew about it the entire time. He _knew_ and…!" Small blades tore through his fingertips forming claws.

Maka jumped as his claws punctured the drywall, specs of dust spilling onto her shoulder. Her hand sought to provide him refuge, enveloping his cheek with the solemn stroke of her thumb. She could feel the current of rigid frustration swallowing her partner whole. "Slow down." She cooed, whispers of her mental agenda reaching his conscience. _Tell me everything_. Her thoughts oozed. It was rare that Soul ever lost his cool, let alone in front of Maka. She'd seen it all with him, including the Maddness of Boobs- (which had taken a whole another effect on him entirely). Little caught her by surprise at this point. Regardless of her Weapon's behavior, she never felt endangered by him (even in spite of his ability to dice her into bite sized cubes at will). She was too headstrong, and a little too naïve in that way. It made him wonder if she'd even fight back…

"It was never even the black blood, Maka. It was me. All me. The little devil was apart of _me_." His claws dug into the grey drywall, itching to cut into something more satisfying. Something that would _gush_ , and _splutter_ , and _taste_ like euphoria. "All of this insanity was the result of my own failure- I-"

Maka touched a finger to his lips. "You're not a failure." She whispered, removing her tempting little digit from the vicinity of his teeth. Blood would seep right out the tip if he just removed that pesky band aid. "You're my partner, demon or not. I don't care if you're a Shinigami, or a Witch, or-"

He snorted, retracting the blades protruding from his flesh. "If I was, I wouldn't be the one putting you in danger. Now, would I?"

Maka crossed her arms. "Then I suppose I have a bit of an attraction to death." She announced defiantly. "Don't get any ideas of leaving me. I've survived your wrath since we were eleven. I think I can handle it."

This woman was something else. He shouldn't have expected anything different from his meister. Her cranium was as hard as a fucking bulldozer. She'd chase him to the ends of the earth if he turned her back on her.

"I'm not going to leave." He mumbled, refusing to meet her gaze. "I'm too selfish to let you go."

"Good." Her sylphlike arms locked around his neck. Once again he nestled into her collarbone, resting his hands in the dip of her waist. This time, comfort won over hunger- temporarily ending the reign of his insatiable need for blood.


	10. Chapter 10- Appeal

I'm back! Took awhile to get this precious gem out, thanks to some lovely plot building.

* * *

 **CHAPTER TEN- APPEAL**

 _ **SOUL**_

Hunger could weigh on the mind like an insatiable parasite- ready to devour anything they may sink their teeth into. It gnaws at the root of all common sense, and cradles thoughts of morality into a sweet lullaby. He felt his control waning with every breath. The scent of her filled his nostrils and tainted his tongue. The urge to gorge on her pale skin vibrated through his fingers. His damp palms would clench, and unclench, warring in civil silence.

Maka's pink nightgown would brush his legs every now and then; a painful reminder of her very palpable presence. Curse that woman. Since the demon-diagnosis, she'd been crawling into his bed every night. Whether it was to keep an eye on him, or torture him, he didn't know. (Especially considering her clear obsession with life-threatening situations). Yet, as his girlfriend, she was far more difficult to get rid of than usual. He wasn't willing to risk kicking her out- with a 50% chance of making her feel bad… or receiving a book to the face. It took more than mere self-control to squash his growing desires. Somehow, she'd found his bicep to be the perfect pillow between her breasts (unbound, he might add) thinly covered by scraps of chiffon and lace. Stupid, _stupid_ woman. In what world did she think that it would be a fine idea to crawl into a blood-sucking demon's bed, and rub up on him with nice lingerie? Was this some insane loyalty test that girls subject their boyfriends to? The kind that has only one right answer (which is not, "you look fat in that").

Maka used to be nothing but bone, back in their teenage years. And though he loved her all the same, he never would've expected this voluptuous beast in his bed. She was not fat, far from it. Although, those breasts had him questioning her diet.

 _Ugh._ He laid a palm over his eyes, grieving his poor cranium before a three-inch novel were to be lodged into his skull.

"Why can't you sleep in your own bed?" He grumbled, untangling his arm from her grasp. A pair of hazed, emerald eyes fluttered open- peering at him through rims of thick lashes.

"You're warm." She mumbles, too fatigued to rile up a fuss. God, he hated the look on her face. With those lips parted in labored breathing, her eyes glazed over, and her cheeks flushed with color. Delectable.

"Look, Maka. It's not like I don't wanna be your personal heating vent- but I'd like to sleep in my own bed. _Alone_." He emphasized, freeing his arm from her clutches. The disoriented blonde whined as she rolled over in the sheets, taking them with her in her tumble off the mattress. "Damn it, Maka. I just washed those. Don't drag them on the floor like-" She was stumbling away before he could even scold her, dragging his clean sheets across the floor. And she thought he was a pig.

"I need those!" He called after his spiteful, drowsy meister. Even between sleep- she was still as vindictive as ever. With an elongated sigh of defeat, he flopped back down on his bed. He could still smell her from the next room over. Honey, strawberries, and a hint of wild roses.

 **...**

 _ **MAKA**_

 **...**

The next morning was more challenging than she'd anticipated. Washing silk sheets were not her specialty, and it was a mystery what would happen to them in a tumble-dry. Maybe stealing his sheets wasn't the best idea. Karma really bit her back, having to figure out how to clean them. Maka pressed her forehead against the communal washing machine, groaning at her failure. Soul, the weapon she'd known her entire life- _her_ weapon- was a demon. She wanted to help him more than ever, after finding out. But she didn't know _how_. Books, in this sense, were her greatest ally. She'd buried herself into countless novels stocked in the DWMA library. Demonology, Guide to a Healthy Demon, Creatures From The Dark Side, _and_ even Excalibur. It was worth a shot. But all of them lead to one simple conclusion.

'… _The aspects of a healthy demon, mainly concerning his/her diet, are mandatory in order to live in a well-balanced demeanor. The sanguine demon (those who possess a sharp set of teeth) require two of three sustaining methods. Blood, preferably that from a humanoid as it is rich in minerals; Souls, of any origin, though the Grigori are a rare and delectable ideal; and Sex. Demons are said to absorb life-force through sexual acts… with an added bonus of appeasing their cravings… of course anyone would prefer the likes of Excalibur over a measly demon…_ '

The text floated amongst her groggy consciousness, reminding her of her past efforts. Soul had grown more and more distant in the past few days. She'd wanted to do _something_ to help. They had their lives hanging in the balance over this, especially with the mission steadily approaching. If he wasn't… fed properly- the madness could take over. Or worse, it could take them both. The mission was _tonight_. They'd be completely out of sync if he wasn't focused in time. And his focus wasn't going to come when all he could think about is soul-sapping his partner.

Soul-hunting wasn't exactly the most casual proposition to her roommate, so that option was first to go. Which left her with two options, that she was entirely capable of providing. Maybe not skillfully, but surely capable. She didn't bother asking herself if she was ready. She wasn't sure if she'd ever _be_ more ready to have sex. She never thought her reasoning would be to satiate her weapon's newly acquired needs. But, this was Soul.

As long as it was with Soul, she was more than willing to do it with him. She was willing to try anything, so long as it was him.

"Stupid virginity." She moaned, thudding her head against the washing machine glass. Her one problem was, he wouldn't have sex with her. No matter how many times she'd tried to seduce him. Frilly pajamas, physical contact, nothing worked with him! She knew she wasn't the most knowledgeable about attraction- or being _sexy_. She'd never really done anything with anyone.

"Isn't it? That's why I got rid of mine a _loooong_ time ago." A certain voice chirped gleefully. Maka's face burned, her eyes flitting open to catch a lock of violet hair. "Don't tell me that scythe-boy hasn't made a move yet."

Maka straightened, her vision filled with a pair of oversized breasts, a tight black leather mini-dress, and mile-high boots. That cat never changes.

"I may have moved out, but I still live here, you know." She said with a pointed, manicured finger; reading the shock on Maka's face. "Besides, that delicious club owner is busy and can't do my chores for me." She flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder wistfully. "So here I am."

 _Of course_. Maka thought to herself, scowling. _She has men do her laundry for her. Incredible_. Maka ran a hand through her hair, unamused. Blair was nothing if not bad luck. You know the expression about black cats?

"How do you even do it, anyway? Seducing all these men." She scoffed. A lightbulb seemed to go off in her head. _Seducing men._ That's Blair's specialty.

"It's a gift, really." Blair shrugged her shoulders with a feline grin, proud.

Maka paused for a moment. She wasn't exactly thrilled on asking for sex-advice from Blair. But she was running low on options. It was a humiliating topic, at least for her. _Just ask._ She willed herself, contemplating on how to form the question. "If… _I_ wanted someone to do my laundry for me, how would I do that?"

Blair's pouty lips curled, devious as she examined her new disciple. "You mean scythe-boy?"

Maka groaned, her cheeks red with embarrassment. "Yeah, whatever, just tell me."

"You have a thing for Soul-kun?" Blair gasped dramatically, raising a hand over her lips to emote comical surprise.

" _Blair!_ " Maka fumed.

Blair's yellow eyes appeared to be cackling with amusement from the inside, but she dared not laugh aloud. "Weeeell, I have a little quick-fix. My secret _lust dust_." She reached into her leather jacket, pulling out a small vial. "Works like a charm every time." She winked, wiggling the bottle between her fingers.

Maka pursed her lips skeptically, eyeing the glittery concoction. "It's not a love potion or something, is it?"

Blair chuckled softly, sliding the vial into her palm. "No, it just _enhances_ what he already feels for you. Makes those lusty feelings his number one priority. Trust me." Maka rolled the tiny glass cylinder in her hand, watching the dust swirl in the tube.

"Add it to any kind of drink. Guaranteed to work."

Boy, did she hope so.

 **…**

The fact she was taking any of Blair's advice made this plan a recipe for disaster. She had exactly five hours to get Soul to drink out of a milk carton- and have sex before they headed off to a deadly battle. …Let's recap. Maka had to get Soul to drink anything that she could slip this _lust dust_ into. Nothing would be more suspicious than handing that man a random drink. He'd figure her out in milliseconds. But, Soul loved to drink from the milk carton in the fridge. Which, she admittedly _hates_ when he does. She'd make an exception just this once.

Undoing the tab of the milk carton, she unveiled Blair's magical scheme- observing its contents. It had an odd pinkish hue to it, swishing about in the small glass. It occurred to her that Blair never really mentioned _how much_. Maka cursed under her breath, her fingers frozen on the vial cap. If she didn't put enough, it might not work. And if she put too much… well, it's not like there are any side effects.

Maka emptied its contents into the carton, folding the spout shut and returning it to the fridge. Step one accomplished. Now, all she had to do was wait. Though, it wouldn't hurt to give him a little incentive after the effects of the dust. She returned to her bedroom with a spring in her step, a satisfied little grin dancing upon her lips. That stupid demon was getting what was coming to him. If he was just going to isolate himself from the problem, she'd take matters into her own hands. Humming quietly to herself, she sifted through her underwear drawer.

"You're in an awfully good mood." A white-haired male grumbled from the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on a piece of lace between her clumsy hands. She fumbled, slamming the drawer shut in an effort to conceal the secret horde of unworn lingerie in her dresser. It's not like she'd ever worn it- but he'd never seen it, either.

"H-Huh?!" She yipped, jumping away from the wooden furniture. She nearly fell backward onto her bed in the process. Why did he have to catch her off guard like that?

"I figured I'd come by… and apologize for kickin' ya out last night." He admit, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

Doing her best to swallow her plan to the grave, she smiled at him empathetically. "It's okay. I might've overreacted." She responded, reaching for the folded set of silk sheets on the bed. "I washed them. Maybe we can call a truce?" She offered sheepishly.

Soul Eater cocked an eyebrow. "Might've?" He echoed sarcastically. Maka glared at him in warning.

"You _do_ want these back, don't you?" The level of sarcasm in her voice was equivalent to a mouthful of sea salt.

"Yes." He rolled his eyes at her, taking his sheets. Their knuckles brushed momentarily, sending a shock through her veins. They hadn't touched in awhile. She couldn't remember ever feeling his touch so strongly. Like an electric current sailing through the body.

"And Maka?" Soul turned to face the doorway, silk sheets in hand. His crimson eyes rippled with curious emotion, his face distraught with an uneasy tension. "Stay out of my bed."

The depths of her stomach solidified into stone, weighing down on her wounded hopes. The statement hurt her in ways she could barely process. Soul's attraction to Maka had never been so apparent. Even so, she'd assumed it still existed. Somewhere, deep down. Would he have done all he had, if he wasn't attracted to her? Could it be that he felt nothing more than the bond of a Weapon to its Meister?

"So much for _lust dust_." She couldn't provoke something that wasn't there in the first place. If he didn't already feel attracted to her, there was nothing she could do.

 **...**

 _ **SOUL**_

 **...**

He wasn't prepared to take on a half-naked meister. Much less so, on the battlefield. It was moments like these that he missed Maka's EAT-class uniform. That, and her flat-as-a-board chest. Instead, his Meister was prancing around in scraps of leather reminiscent of a certain witch bitch. It was and effort to keeps his eyes away from those leather booty shorts, and the matching swimsuit-like top that barely container her tits. Lord Death. Whenever he'd been asked about Maka's new ' _functional_ ' uniform, he'd comment on the cool skull belt. Or the asymmetrical thigh high boots. And on occasion, his only saving grace, the yellow striped jacket she wore. Maka's only concern with her uniform was functionality. The less fabric, the easier it was to move in- so her logic goes. Similar to the time she wanted to improve their soul resonance by having sex- she'd never been more blonde. (The experiment was quickly shut down by a teenage Soul with a semi-active conscience… and an eavesdropping Spirit).

Kid was never a rival to worry about. The first time he laid eyes on that… _ensemble_ , he'd nearly had a seizure over the asymmetric boots. Blackstar, on the other hand, felt it was his job to make a scene. His eyes nearly rolled out of his skull, following an insane number of profoundly obscene comments. He would've beat him halfway into the hospital if it weren't for Tsubaki. But, that certainly didn't account for the rest of the male population that would see _his_ Meister in that suit. The thought brought his limbs into a will of their own as he slung an arm over her shoulder.

Her high-strung, wavy pigtails whipped in the air as she turned with a questioning brow. "What are you doing, Soul?"

The full weight of his arm laboring her shoulders, he flashed her a set of deathly white teeth. "Making sure everyone knows who you belong to."

"What _are_ you talking about? We're going to work." She made a funny face at him. Her eyebrows squiggled in confusion, her nose crinkling in a lopsided fashion. It was a cute expression.

"I'm talking about _this_." He hooked a finger beneath the halter of her top, strumming the thin ties that kept her breasts contained under two skimpy triangles. The perversion of her outfit somehow eased his urge to cover her in blood. It was an ample distraction, to put it mildly.

Fire eclipsed her eyes, slapping his deviant hand away. "Soul Eater!" She warned. One more tug, he might've seen her breasts. With the accompaniment of an encyclopedia smashed to his face. Seemed like a fair trade. "It's a professional environment. Besides, what's wrong with my uniform? It's completely utilitarian."

 _Utilitarian_. More like a sex-appeal magnet! "I don't think any evil-doer is going to be professional when it comes to that get-up." He chastised, gesturing to her coordinate with his eyes. "Nor will I. You're my girl, battlefield or not."

Maka tugged on the leather cuff of his sleeve. They were complementary to each other. "All of a sudden, you want to parade me around?"

"I always have. You're the most badass chick I know." He chuckled, leading her in stride through the doorway. "I just want to show off the fact that you're _mine_."


	11. Chapter 11- Witches & Milk Cartons

I've re-written this chapter about a million times, so I hope you enjoy. Here's to Witches and Milk Cartons!

* * *

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN- WITCHES & MILK CARTONS**

 _ **MAKA**_

She was about as peachy as a sour plum. One minute he was kicking her out of his bedroom- the next he was inflating her ego. Soul Eater Evans was the most frustrating man to ever walk this earth. Or the moon, for that matter. Soul was halfway slumped against the second-story brick wall of Fjord Castle, his combat boots digging into the stone floor with precise force. Just enough to keep his legs from giving in to the weight of his lazily propped-up torso. A few loose strands of hair strayed from his messy bun, framing the aloof expression upon his pale face. He was as calm as ever, despite the load of deep shit they were in. That was Soul.

It was their mission to locate the Winter Witch. A woman apparently in possession of the long lost artifact- B.R.E.W. A witch had never been an easy foe. In fact, she was hunting for their soon to be dead corpses if they didn't get out of there soon. Meanwhile, Soul simply exhaled a breath of frigid air as if brooding over a Christmas party.

"It's a letter, Maka. Just grab it and we're out of here." He nodded towards the doorway, referring to the accused piece of paper. It was meticulously written in odd ink, lying on the desk like a grail-worthy prize. It seemed a little too easy. Almost like their relationship. She _thought_ he was attracted to her. But was it truly that simple?

Not the time, Maka! Focus!

"We're detected! She knows her Castle's been invaded. There's no way we can retrieve it without a fight." She hissed in response, smacking him on the shoulder.

Soul wrapped a protective palm around his affronted shoulder, leaning away from his aggressive meister. "She thinks we're coming for BREW. That letter is all we need. It's proof of what the Witches' Society plans to do with that crazy device."

Maka frowned at him, extending her hand in invitation. "In and out, baby. I promise." He shot her a grin, before transforming into Scythe mode. She whipped her pigtails in response, her teeth grit with concern. Anxiety pooled into her stomach, her bones chilling as she crept into the second-story window. Soul's Scythe was clutched between her gloved hands.

"Was the window necessary? There _is_ a door, you know…" The scythe commented cheekily, causing her jaw to grind.

"There could have been a protection spell on the door! Ugh, just…" She gripped his handle tightly, calculating her movements from the window to the desk. A mission like this was crucial. Yet she couldn't shake the thoughts that now plagued her buzzing mind. She could barely withstand the sound of his voice, constantly spurring her head in obscene directions. Demons, relationships, and sex. All incredibly challenging subjects to tackle.

Soul was the man she'd been falling for since she was twelve. Finally the culmination of her feelings had urged them into a relationship. At this rate, their emotions were condensed into explosive professions of romance. They'd been spiraling. And somehow, at the exact same time, Soul's epiphany of a lifetime had come rushing down. This brought her to two, very simple and complicated facts.

Soul Eater is a soul-consuming, blood-lusting, nearly immortal Demon.

And, she's completely infatuated with him.

In the combustible mess these truths had cast upon her, she was filled with unwelcomed feelings of yearning and lust. She hated to admit that she possessed the very same carnal desire that drove half the population, their age, to one-night stands. She couldn't ignore the way he made her heart race with a mere glance, let alone the sound of his voice. It was easier to chalk up her sudden desire for sex to be a menial favor. She just wanted Soul to be healthy. A healthy male demon. As if her sole concern in the world was feeding her life force to her hungry demon partner. Please!

The reality was, she wanted his attention in a more intimate way. In a type of way that she didn't know how to attract. The jumble of predicaments had her fuming on a largely more important battlefield.

"Maka, what the hell are you spacing out for?" Her scythe craned backward to face her, disapproving.

"I…" She began, interrupted by a familiar voice.

"She was obviously daydreaming about you, bro." Black Star interjected, mid-way through snagging the letter off the desk. Maka stared blankly at him, slightly impressed by his enhanced assassin skills. She hadn't even detected him.

"Yeah, I know! The great Black Star achieved the mission before Maka Albarn and Soul the Death Scythe. Impressed? Of course you are!" The blue-haired male boasted from the middle of the room, his volume risen far above assassin standards. Maka cringed. He was still the same idiot from High School. The echo of his voice resounded throughout the castle, alarming a certain Witch of their presence.

"Shit…! Maka!" Soul warned, the steel bridge of his scythe becoming more rigid. Shards of ice rattled the tile floors, angrily piercing the air of her former being. Her body had reacted in overdrive, leaping backwards into an unsuspecting assassin.

"Ow! Watch where you're going, will ya?" Black Star hollered from behind, rubbing his head from the collision. Maka let a vault of steam blow through her nostrils, containing her frustration at their current dilemma. Without acknowledging her idiot co-worker, she sprung towards the offender- perched placidly upon a pike of snow.

She'd appeared in a matter of seconds, ready to decimate all life from her lone fortress. Maka could sense the outrage seeping from her every breath, her teeth bared in a barbaric manner. But perhaps the woman's most alarming feature, was the listless, fathomless gaze in her eyes. Such a look made her blood run cold. It was as if she'd been poisoned. The world shifted downward, spiraling. The air became pixelated and her scythe fuzzy. All it took was one look, and her world was shoved into a merciless vortex. Her stomach churned with horror at the thought of failing to protect her comrades. Failing to protect Soul. It was her duty as his meister to make sure they returned alive. She couldn't see straight. It was like being on the drugs that Soul had made her guinea-pig through late high school. The floor was breaking and charging towards her in treacherous ways, tangoing her into an uncoordinated dance. It took every ounce of energy she had to dodge her unabating slew of attacks. Her mind was unclear, her soul wavelength faltering with no chance at a resonance. Deadly shards continued their pursuit of the pair.

Soul could feel her wavering form. If this continued, they'd find themselves in a predicament much worse than the Demon Sword incident. He trusted Maka more than anything, but… his desire to protect her was legions stronger. For years he'd passively protected her as her weapon. However… as a Demon, he could actively protect her firsthand. The gelid air stung his skin, having shifted mid-air from his weapon form. In mere seconds, he'd jolted them both away from a deafening strike- breaking his Meister's fall as they clashed with the wall.

"Soul! What are you..?" She demanded with frail eyes, her gloved hands clutching to his leather jacket. She was surprised she could even find it. He placated a smile at her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Protecting my Meister." He answered simply. There were no words to describe the sudden shift in their positions. As her weapon, he'd known. He'd known she'd been struck by the Witch's beguiling spell- forcing her to lose both her stability and eyesight. He'd known her frustration, her helplessness as all of her senses began to shut down. He was Soul: her partner. She watched as he turned his back on her, hurdling himself towards the Winter Witch. He was like an animal, hunting. Lithe, as he wrapped his claws around the Witch's throat- plummeting her into a hoard of ice. He'd reached her with such grace, such _predatory ease_. A chill raked through her spine as she laid eyes on a crimson mound of snow. It was unmistakable through her hazy view. Red, like the color of his wild eyes.

He hadn't killed the villain. He'd spared her. If only for one more ounce of strength, she would've broken between the grasp of his fingers.

 **…**

They'd managed, somehow. Maka was still mulling over the defeat of the Winter Witch (and retrieval of the letter) as she sat on the backseat of Soul's bike. Her senses (thankfully) were fully intact; the Winter Witch's poisonous glare having worn off. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, her hands wandering as they traced the ripples of his abdomen. He was more dangerous than she could have imagined. And she, she'd brought them into more danger than necessary with her lingering hesitation. She frowned into his back, her face hidden between the span of his shoulder blades. He hadn't said a word since they'd left the DWMA's Headquarters. She'd fucked up. Big time.

"Fuck, Maka." His growl ripped through the sound of the roaring engine as he revved the bike. Goosebumps rose along the flesh of her frozen arms. "What _happened_ back there? Putting yourself in danger like that…" He sighed, disappointment filling his tenor.

"I'm sorry, I…" She couldn't find the words to explain herself. She felt ridiculous. How could she tell him? That it was all to blame on her stupid obsession with him. She was so hellbent on protecting him, no matter what condition her body was in. So long as… so long as she didn't have to add to the number of scars on his body.

He snorted, his white hair straying from the binds of his messy bun. "Idiot." He mumbled as he cut the engine, easing into their parking spot. He activated the kickstand with the heel of his boot, turning partly towards her. "I need to know that I can trust you to protect yourself." His pensive eyes bore into her windows of trembling green. His voice had softened a touch, indicating his desperation. It was the umpteenth time he'd pleaded for her to surrender to her limits. For a split second she was able to connect with the soul of her foreign beast, understanding.

He'd meant, _I need to know you can defend yourself against_ _ **me**_ _._ She shuddered, her nails digging into his chest. "O-Of course I will." Maka sufficed, hesitant to end their only outlet of physical contact. "But I trust you." She added incoherently, though the demon still caught drift of her solemn voice. Soul had saved her from the witch when her body had slipped out from under her. She trusted him to take over when she recklessly pushed herself too far.

He'd cut the engine, though it sounded as if the bike had revved once more from the depths of his chest. "You can't trust me like that anymore."

"I want to! You're my partner, Soul…" Maka urged, pressing into him with all her might. He sighed, his gaze melancholic as he unhinged her arms from his torso.

"I could lose control at any moment. When we're…" He chewed at his lip, exhaling a breathy sigh. Images of obscenity and Soul's naked torso clouded her mind. Maka flushed at the root of his concern, finding sanctum as she wound her limbs around her own stomach.

"I've always brought you back. We've brought each other back. From the madness. From bloodlust is no different. No matter the obstacle, I want to be with you." She willed herself to reach out, touching his arm tentatively. He merely laughed in response, shaking his head. Nothing was funny about the subject. But apparently, he found something humorous.

"Mm." He grunted in acknowledgement, segueing into his source of humor. "Ever the masochist, aren't you Albarn?" He commented blithely, cracking a grin.

She hurled her fist into his cranium, frowning. "That's what you're thinking about?!" She scoffs. "Idiot!"

The white-haired male rolled his eyes, swinging off the bike in one motion, and took lead into their shared apartment. The night was not briskly cool as they'd expected, the heater humming loudly as he'd turned the key into their apartment door. The warmth of the room assaulted his heightened senses- provoking him to peel off his leather jacket. He dropped his coat lazily over the nearby sofa, swiveling into the kitchen for his desired cravings. A glass- no, a _carton_ of milk sounded like the perfect cure.


End file.
